t 



Glass 
Book. 




!'8S!.8 



DISCOURSES 



CHIEFLY ON 



({7. 

DEVOTIONAL SUBJECTS, 



BY THE LATE 



Rev. NEWCOME CAPPE. 



To which are Prefixed 



MEMOIRS OF HIS LIFE, 

By CATHARINE CAPPE. 



WITH AN APPENDIX, 

CONTAINING A SERMON PREACHED AT THE INTERMENT OF THE 
AUTHOR, BY THE LATE REV. WILLIAM WOOD. 



He being dead yet speaketh." 



From 


the second English Edition. 






- 


BOSTON : 


PUBLISHED BY WELLS AND LILLY. 




1818. 




* 



■« 






\%\t 



D 



TO THE CONGREGATION 



OF PROTESTANT DISSENTERS 

In St. Saviourgate, — York. 



MY FRIENDS, 



X AM persuaded that I could not render you 
a more acceptable service than by publishing a 
selection of Sermons, which, some of you will 
remember to have heard with delight, and which 
all of you, I doubt not, will peruse with interest, 
and, as I hope, with lasting advantage. 

To you, in a more especial manner, your late 
honoured Pastor yet speaks. — He conjures you 
to be indeed " a peculiar people zealous of good 
works;" not distinguished so much from others, 
by difference of speculative opinion, as by strict 
integrity of principle, by candour towards all ; by 
that charity, " which suffereth long and is kind;" 
by the exemplary purity of your hearts, and the 
active usefulness of your lives. — He exhorts you 
to aspire after perfect holiness — not alone for your 
own sakes, but that in you, " the truth as it is in 
Jesus," may shine forth and be glorified. 

My friends ! when we look back upon the 
years that are gone, and reflect upon the many 



ir DEDICATION. 

neglected opportunities of greater improvement, 
that are for ever fled away with them; surely 
we must be seriously solicitous to "strengthen the 
things which remain." We are still a favoured 
people ; and though I am not permitted to speak 
of the talents, the virtues, and other eminent en- 
dowments of our present Minister, your own 
hearts will testify; and with them I rest the ap- 
peal. 

Possessed of such advantages, ought we to re* 
main " even as others ?" Let us, my friends, be 
studious to abound more and more in every good 
word and work. Let us live, as those ought to 
live, who are hereafter to render an account, so 
that when "the days of the years of our pilgri- 
mage are over," we may celebrate an eternal 
triumph over sin, and sorrow, and infirmity, and 
be found worthy to join in "the song of Moses 
the servant of God, and in the song of the Lamb," 
for ever and ever ! 

Your sincere friend, 

CATHARINE CAPPE, 

York, May 22, 1805, 



PREFACE 



TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



It has always been my wish to select some of Mr. Cappe's 
Sermons for publication. Proceeding from the heart, I 
have thought they would reach the heart; and Ihave in- 
dulged the pleasing hope that there are those who would 
not only read them with interest, but who would seriously 
endeavour to imbibe the principles, and to feel the senti- 
ments of piety they contain, and strive daily, like the 
Preacher, to approach nearer, and still nearer, towards 
Christian perfection. In this hope I may be deceived ; 
but it has cheered many a lonely hour, and having so 
strongly felt its influence, I should not have done my duty 
if I had neglected to adopt the mode of conduct, suggest- 
ed by it. 

I am not, however, so visionary as to imagine, that the 
sentiments of the publick respecting the merit of these 
Sermons, or even the sentiments of persons whose turn of 
mind may be somewhat congenial, should keep pace with 
my own. I well know, that striking and elevating as are 
the views they exhibit of the power and goodness of God, 
and of the unspeakable importance of cultivating right af- 
fections towards him — animated and pathetick as is the 
strain of feeling with which they abound, they cannot be 
associated in the minds of others with the impressive man- 



vi PREFACE. 

ner, the persuasive tones, the simple piety, which so ex- 
ceedingly increase their interest with those who heard the 
Preacher, and who loved him, and which to their minds so 
forcibly recall his image, that scarcely can they persuade 
themselves, he is not still speaking ! I should think, how- 
ever, that independent of every thing extrinsick, they must 
have sufficient internal merit to recommend them. It is 
true, indeed, that a spirit of devotion is not the spirit of 
the times ; yet some persons surely there are, who wish 
to discriminate accurately between sterling piety, which 
leads to every thing great, and noble, and consolatory, and 
that wild enthusiasm which erringly assumes its honoured 
name — some, who would wish to keep strictly within the 
boundary, beyond which pleasure, even innocent pleasure 
assumes a different character — to persons such as these, 
the Sermons here presented to them, cannot be without 
their value. 

The Prayers are added by the Editor ; although taken from 
Mr. Cappe's, yet as their present connexion and arrange- 
ment could not be his, any defects in these respects, if such 
there are, cannot attach to him. 

In the Memoirs annexed to this volume, there are con- 
siderable additions made to those which were prefixed to 
the Critical Dissertations published in 1802, and the long 
quotations then given from the Sermons preached by Mr. 
Cappe on his recovery from a nervous fever in 1782, also 
from those on the love of God, are here wholly omitted, as 
the Discourses themselves form a part of this selection. 
The Editor has availed herself of Mr. Wood's kind per- 
mission to annex the Sermon preached by him at the fune- 
ral of the deceased, as a powerful independent testimony 
of the talents and virtues she has endeavoured to por- 
tray. 



PREFACE 



TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



1 have great pleasure in bringing forward a second 
edition of (he following Sermons, first published in 1805, 
and which have been long out of print. They have been 
frequently inquired for, which I consider as a consolatory 
proof that the spirit of pure and genuine devotion has still 
its sincere votaries, however it may be hidden from the 
philosopher, who seeks for the solution of every great and 
appalling event in the mere operation of secondary causes; 
— from the warriour, who rests for success on. his sanguinary 
sword ; — or from him who places his chief happiness in 
the fleeting unsubstantial enjoyments of the present hour. 
— As a proof that there are many, especially in the calm 
still walks of life, apart from the toils of ambition and the 
direful conflicts of contending nations, who do not exclude 
the great Ruler of the Universe from " all their thoughts ;" 
who consider his favour as the only true riches, and " who 
seek it with their whole heart" — not indeed in a pertina- 
cious attachment to any particular system of theological 
speculation, but in a sincere desire of being conformed to 
the likeness of Him who was appointed to bring in "an 
everlasting righteousness ;" of Iiim who continually went 
about doiug good, and who did always those things that 



viii PREFACE. 

were most pleasing to his heavenly Father — to his God 
and to our God ! 

On a careful perusal of these Sermons with a view 
to their republication, after the lapse of eleven years, 
my mind is so powerfully impressed by their superiour 
excellence, that I cannot refrain from dwelling for a 
few moments on a subject so near my heart, indecorous, 
as any eulogium on my part may be deemed. I should 
however restrain myself from this indulgence, could any 
impropriety of mine at all affect the memory of their 
revered author ; or if I did not cherish a latent hope, 
that by thus dilating upon their great merit, the casual 
reader might be induced to peruse them with more at- 
tention, and might consequently reap from the perusal 
more lasting benefit. 

The three first Discourses on Faith cannot but be 
deemed highly useful, not merely as forcibly pointing 
out the great importance of this salutary principle in 
the daily intercourse and general conduct of human life, 
but as leading to a just discrimination between such of 
its objects as reason suggests and approves, and those of a 
blind credulity, a wild enthusiasm, or an abject, debasing 
superstition. 

Respecting those which follow on "undue anxiety," 
and "on the duty of joining thanksgiving with prayer," 
we may confidently ask, where is the heart of ordi- 
nary sensibility which in its progress through life, in 
many a painful hour of anticipated misfortune or of pain- 
ful suspense, has not stood in need of the cheering conso- 
lations they so powerfully recommend and so effectually 
impart ? 



PREFACE. ix 

Of the extreme importance of those Discourses which 
treat on the obligation and reasonableness of the love of 
God; on the constant care and diligence required to 
keep it alive ; on the incompatibility of the love of plea- 
sure with the love of God, and on the characteristicks 
of those, who are governed by the love of pleasure, all 
must be fully aware who are in the habit of attending 
to the current of events, or of observing what daily 
passes around them. But as the generality are far 
from being of this description, the testimony of one 
who has had the ample experience of a longer life than 
was anciently attributed to man by the shepherd king of 
antiquity, must not be withheld. How many instances 
could she adduce from her own observation, were this the 
proper place for it, of the truth and unspeakable impor- 
tance of the genuine Christian principles which these Dis- 
courses so forcibly inculcate ! — To the serious attention of 
younger readers, who are just entering on the eventful 
career of human life, she would particularly recommend 
them ; ardently wishing, that at a period when lasting im- 
pressions are most easily made, they may learn to be upon 
their guard respecting the opinions they adopt, and the 
consequent habits they form. But let them not rest 
on her feeble testimony, nor even on the powerful rea- 
soning of the Christian preacher. — May the lamentable 
destruction of all moral and religious principle, and the 
total degradation of a great neighbouring nation, by the 
immoderate, never-ending pursuit of pleasure, operate as 
a more tremendous warning, and raising in a louder tone 
its terrifick voice, more forcibly compel the awful convic- 
tion ! 

The Editor may be pardoned if, as a female, she should 
take a peculiar interest in the Sermons which dilate on the 



x PREFACE. 

singular honour conferred on Mary of Magdala and her 
sorrowing companions, by their divine Master, in his ap- 
pearing first to them after his glorious resurrection : A 
decisive proof surely, that in however degrading a light 
the sex may have been considered in days of great igno- 
rance and moral depravity, and are even yet regarded on 
some of the finest portions of the globe, they are not so 
estimated in the sight of God ; — that, in the Christian code, 
there is no distinction of persons ; but, of which ever sex, 
or of whatever country or climate, those who fear him and 
work righteousness, shall assuredly be accepted of him. 
What a stimulus this, to those happy females who bear 
the Christian name, to be continually making progress 
in every mental, moral, and religious attainment ! 

Nor are those reflections less valuable that take their 
rise in the three following Discourses, from the contem- 
plation of the tomb of Jesus; whether as tending to the 
confirmation of our Christian faith, to the improvement of 
our Christian temper, or to the increase of our love to 
Christ. 

The very severe illness of the Author in the year 1782, 
gave occasion, as is mentioned in the prefixed Memoir, to 
that interesting development of the state of his mind during 
its severe pressure, and after his happy deliverance from 
it, so impressively detailed in the three Discourses on the 
use and improvement to be derived from such afflicting 
dispensations. They have been read with peculiar sym- 
pathy, both on this and on the other side the Atlantick, 
and the Editor has had the satisfaction of hearing, have 
been the source of great consolation to many an afflicted 
spirit. 



PREFACE. xi 

On the four Discourses exclusively devotional, the Edi- 
tor refrains from dilating. To a mind fully capable of 
duly appreciating the delicacy, truth, and beauty of the 
senliraents Ihey express, it would be wholly unnecessary, 
and to readers of a contrary description, who are princi- 
pally occupied in pursuits of ambition, of gain, or of plea- 
sure, it would be to address tbem in an unknown language, 
and consequently would be quite unavailing. 

The Editor makes no apology for subjoining the excel- 
lent Sermon of the late Mr. Wood, to this, as to the 
former edition. Little was it apprehended on the last day 
of the eighteenth century when Mr. Wood delivered his 
able impressive Discourse, that in the short space of eight 
years and three months, his sorrowing friend, Mr. Well- 
beloved, should be called upon to perform the like pain- 
ful office at his funeral ! But such is the life of man ! 
— and so true it is, that his life is "even as a vapour 
which appeareth for a little time and soon vanisheth away I"* 

* Mr- Wood was a man of uncommon talents, and all his compo- 
sitions were marked by an originality of thought, and a comprehensive 
view of his subject, which rendered them peculiarly striking. He 
published very little, and consequently was not generally known 
or duly appreciated by the publick. His friend Mr. Wellbeloved, 
who was one of the few that knew him well, incorporated a very 
useful analysis of some of his manuscript compositions which he was 
permitted to peruse, in an interesting Memoir written the year after 
Mr. Wood's decease. This Memoir like the subject of it, has not 
obtained the celebrity to which its merit, had it got into extensive 
circulation, must have procured for it : and this is the more to be 
regretted, as it contains a general outline of Mr. Wood's mode of 
instructing his pupils, who were females, in various branches of 
literature and science, exhibiting a striking specimen of the superiour 
comprehension of his mind, and of the masterly view he took of his 
subject, and which might therefore be rendered extremely useful to 
many others engaged in similar studies. 

York, June 14, 1816. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Dedication iii 

P>v*ace V 

Preface to the Second Edition vii 

Life of the Rey. Newcome Cappe xvii 



DISCOURSES. 

DISCOURSE I. 

On Faith in general, and Religious Faith in particular .... 85 

DISCOURSE II. 

Faith a Reasonable Principle i .... 94 

DISCOURSE III. 

Faith a Desirable and Important Principle 106 

DISCOURSE IV. 

The Unreasonableness and Folly of undue Anxiety 117 

DISCOURSE V. 

On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving with Prayer, in Time of 
Affliction 127 



xiv CONTENTS. 

DISCOURSE VI. 

Part II. — On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving with Prayer, in 
Time of Affliction 137 

DISCOURSE VII. 

Man, the Property of God . . 148 

DISCOURSE VIII. 

On the Obligation, the Importance, and the Reasonableness of the 
Love of God 161 

DISCOURSE IX. 

On the Care and Diligence required to preserve and keep alive 
the Love of God 174 

DISCOURSE X. 
On the Incompatibility of the Love of Pleasure, with the Love of 
God 186 

DISCOURSE XL 

Part II. — On the Incompatibility of the Love of Pleasure, with 
the Love of God 198 

DISCOURSE XII. 

Characteristicks of those who are governed by the Love of Pleasure 21 1 

DISCOURSE XIII. 

Part II. — Characteristicks of those who are governed by the 
Love of Pleasure 223 

DISCOURSE XIV. 

On the Appearance of Christ, after his Resurrection, to Mary 
Magdalene 236 



CONTENTS. *v 

DISCOURSE XV. 
Part II.— On the Appearance of Christ after his Resurrection, to 
Mary Magdalene 248 

DISCOURSE XVI. 

Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, as tending to confirm our Faith 
in the Christian Doctrine 263 

DISCOURSE XVII. 

Part II. — Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, tending to improve 
the Christian Temper 276 

DISCOURSE XVIII. 

Part 111. — Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, tending to improve 
the Christian Temper 286 

DISCOURSE XIX. 

David's Morning Hymn of Praise 299 

DISCOURSE XX. 

Part II. — On the glory of God, as displayed by the Heavenly 
Luminaries 313 

DISCOURSE XXI. 

Part III. — On the glory of God, as manifested in the Heavenly 
Luminaries 326 

DISCOURSE XXII. 

On the Use and improvement to be derived from Severe Illness 339 

DISCOURSE XXIII. 

Part II. — On the Use and Improvement to be derived from Se- 
vere Illness 351 



xri CONTENTS. 

DISCOURSE XXIV. 

Part III.— On the Use and Improvement to be derived from Se- 
vere Illness . . 362 



APPENDIX. 

A Sermon by the Rev. William Wood, after the Interment of the 
Author 375 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.* 



Memoirs of persons who were eminent for 
talents, learning, virtue, and piety, cannot fail 
of being interesting to all who feel any solici- 
tude about their own improvement, any wish 
to attain that degree of excellence, to which, 
even in this imperfect state, this dawn of intel- 
lectual life, the human mind has in numerous 
instances been found capable of arriving. It 
is with the ardent wish of stimulating others, 
" to strive after things that are excellent," 
that the editor of the following discourses re- 
publishes with some additions, what, on a 
former occasion she had laid before the pub- 
lick respecting the character of the preacher : 
to gain celebrity to his memory, were she 
equal to the attempt, would not be an object 
of her desire : When living, he sought not 
the praise of men ; and now, if he were 
conscious of what is passing in this lower 
world, their praise or neglect would be to 

* Memoirs of Mr. Cappe were originally prefixed by the Editor to two 
volumes of his Critical Dissertations ; but as it is hoped that a volu.ne 
of Devotional Sermons may interest many who will never see 'he 
former publication, she has ventured to prefix them, with some addi- 
tions, to the present, 

C 



xviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

him a matter of no moment ; — less than the 
shadow of a shade. 

INewcome Cappe, the eldest of six children, 
three of whom died in their infancy, was born 
at Leeds, in Yorkshire, February the % 1st, 
1732-3. His father, the Eev. Joseph Cappe, 
many years minister of the dissenting congre- 
gation at Mill-hill Chapel in that town, was a 
person of great learning, liberality, and piety ; 
eminently skilled in the oriental languages, 
and highly popular in the discharge of his 
ministerial functions. It was his custom 
to preach without notes for many years, owing 
to the following circumstance: Happening 
one day, on a visit to a distant congregation, 
to forget his sermon, he was obliged to deliver 
it from memory, and finding that he succeed- 
ed in the effort, although he continued always 
to pre-compose his sermons, he never after- 
wards committed them to paper : hence at 
his death scarcely any vestiges of them re- 
mained, except what were engraven on the 
hearts of a numerous, an attentive, and an 
affectionate congregation. 

A striking proof of the high veneration in 
which he was held, has accidentally fallen 
into my hands, A respectable member of 
his congregation, who had taken notes of 
some of his sermons, and afterwards tran- 
scribed them for his own use, gave evening 
lectures from them many years after his 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xix 

death ; some of which are now before me, 
and are prefaced in the following remark- 
able manner : " If, in the course of my 
reading, any thing occurs that may fall be- 
neath that true greatness and dignity of 
sentiment, with which that worthy gentleman, 
the Reverend Joseph Cappe, used to deliver 
his sermons, you will please to keep this one 
thing in your thoughts, that what I read was 
transcribed from characters, and only design- 
ed for private use." He married the daughter, 
and one of the coheiresses, of Mr. Newcome 
of Waddington, in Lincolnshire, a gentleman 
of considerable property, and great respec- 
tability of character. Their son showed early 
marks of that genius, and extraordinary appli- 
cation to study, which afterwards marked his 
character : at six years of age, he had made 
considerable progress in the Latin language ; 
and while he was yet very young, he was so 
attentive an hearer of the preaching of his 
reverend father, that he was frequently asked 
by him on a Sunday morning, where his dis- 
course the preceding Sunday had been dis- 
continued ; it being his practice, as it was 
afterwards that of his son, to continue the in- 
vestigation of the same subject through a 
long series of discourses. 

The immediate subject of these memoirs, 
at this period, was in the habit of rising at 
four in the morning, that he might read 
his lessons, undisturbed by the family. This 



xx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

he did in winter by the kitchen fire, which, 
in that part of the country, it is customary 
to keep in all night ; and when summer 
approached, and the weather allowed, it was 
his delight to take his book for the same pur- 
pose, and sit among the ruins of Kirkstall 
Abbey, situated about three miles from Leeds, 
on the banks of the river Aire. The pic- 
turesque scenery which he there enjoyed, 
aided by the impressive solemnity of the 
surrounding objects, contributed, no doubt, 
to cultivate and improve that fine taste for the 
beauties of nature, that high relish for the 
grand and sublime, which formed ever after 
a distinguished part of his character, and of 
which, it is apprehended, many instances 
will appear in the following discourses : Sce- 
nery like this it was ever his delight to con- 
template ; and to rise "from Mature, up to 
Nature's God." 

His excellent father died of a fever at the 
age of forty-eight ; an event which made 
an impression on his son's mind, never after- 
wards to be effaced. It was suggested to 
Mrs. Cappe, soon after this afflictive stroke, 
by a particular friend, that the uncommon 
talents, and extraordinary diligence of her 
son, then in his sixteenth year, would un- 
doubtedly procure him the patronage of Br. 
Seeker, at that time bishop of Oxford, and 
rector of St. James's, (afterwards archbishop 
of Canterbury,) if he were introduced to him , 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxi 

which, it was urged, could easily be accom- 
plished ; a connexion already subsisting be- 
tween the two families, in consequence of an 
inter-marriage. On this subject she consult- 
ed her son ; but although not insensible to 
the splendour of the prospect which might 
by this means have opened upon him, he did 
not hesitate to decline the proposal, knowing 
that the bishop's patronage could not be obtain- 
ed without conforming to the establishment ; 
a step which he believed would be inimical 
to that unfettered research into religious 
truth, which, even then, was a pursuit more 
congenial to his mind, than objects of ambi- 
tion, or worldly aggrandisement. He was 
placed by his mother, in the same year, 
(i748.) with Mr. afterwards Dr. Aikin, at 
Kibworth in Leicestershire, where he remain- 
ed one year ; a period on which he always 
looked back with peculiar satisfaction. Here 
he began, in earnest, that intellectual career 
in which he so much delighted : he had a 
high respect for his tutor, by whom he was 
much distinguished, and had great pleasure 
in observing many early indications of those 
talents in Mrs. Barbauld, the daughter of 
Dr. Aikin, then four years of age, which have 
since obtained the general suffrage. The 
reader may not be displeased with the follow- 
ing specimen. 

The tutor and his pupil conversing during 
a morning's walk on the subject of the pas- 



xxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

sions, they were called to dinner before the 
conversation ended. When they were seat- 
ed, the doctor continued the subject : " You 
see, therefore, sir, that joy, accurately defin- 
ed, cannot have place in a state of perfect 
felicity ; for joy, supposes an accession of 
happiness." " I think you are mistaken, pa- 
pa," exclaimed a little voice from the oppo- 
site side of the table : " Why do you think so, 
Lsetitia ?" " Because, papa, in the chapter I 
read to you this morning in the Testament, 
it is said, There is more joy in heaven over 
one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety- 
nine just persons that need no repentance." 

From Kibworth, Mr. Cappe was removed 
to Northampton, where he continued to make 
great progress in literature, under the cele- 
brated Dr. Doddridge ; of which the writer of 
these memoirs, occupied in the melancholy 
employment of reviewing a box of letters, 
written many of them by departed friends, 
accidentally met with the following testimony, 
in a letter to Mrs. Cappe, then residing at 
Leeds, dated Northampton, June 8, 1750. 

" Dear Madam, 

" It is highly fit, that when my much es- 
teemed pupil and friend returns to you, to 
spend the vacation at home, he should bear 
along with him that testimonial to his excel- 
lent character, and exemplary behaviour, 
which he has so long deserved. T therefore* 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxiii 

•beg leave to assure you, that I cannot recol- 
lect I ever had a pupil under my care, whose 
genius and capacity exceeded his, and few 
have equalled him in a close and steady appli- 
cation to business. His distinguished talents 
have been adorned with the modesty of his 
behaviour and sweetness of his temper ; and 
he has still conducted himself, so as to pre- 
serve the Christian character, and to encour- 
age my hopes of eminent usefulness under 
the ministerial. I cannot but congratulate 
you, dear madam, on the agreeable prospect 
you have in him, and most earnestly pray, 
that God may spare his life and yours, and so 
establish the health of both, that you may 
long see him very useful in the church, and 
may see the life of the worthy father, continu- 
ed in that of the son. 

" P. Doddridge." 

During the three years Mr. Cappe spent at 
Northampton, some doubts arose in his mind 
respecting the evidences of Christianity ; and 
feeling it impossible to engage in the ministry, 
if these doubts should continue, he determin- 
ed to investigate the subject in the most im- 
partial manner. For this purpose he read 
carefully the writings of the French and En- 
glish deists, weighing, as he went along, their 
several objections, the greater part of which 
appeared to him to be levelled, not against 
the Christianity of the scriptures, although 
these writers might conceive them so to be. 



xxiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 

but against the additions and corruptions 
which in the lapse of ages have, from time to 
time, been added to it. How often have I 
heard him rejoice and triumph in the final re- 
sult ! a firm persuasion, never afterwards sha- 
ken, that the gospel of Christ is indeed the 
truth of God ! It struck his mind, however, 
even then, and he was afterwards fully confirm- 
ed in the opinion, that its great value consisted, 
not in any set of metaphysical doctrines, but 
in a plain exhibition of important facts, by 
means of which, to adopt the highly figurative, 
but strikingly energetick language of an Apos- 
tle, " We are begotten again to a lively hope, 
by the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ 
from the dead ;" that " as he lives, so we shall 
live also :" an exhibition fully adequate to sup- 
ply the most powerful motives " to perfect ho- 
liness, in the fear, and love of God." 

During the time he spent at Northampton, 
Mr. Cappe composed a short-hand for himself, 
on principles wholly dissimilar to those gene- 
rally in use, and remarkable for its neatness 
and brevity. This short-hand he afterwards 
constantly used: he made a grammar of it; 
but not having taught it to any of his pupils, 
it is probable that the far greater part (if not 
the whole) of his valuable labours would 
have been lost after his decease, had he not 
latterly been prevailed upon to dictate from 
it to a transcriber. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xx* 

The high opinion which Dr. Doddridge 
had formed of the talents, disposition, and 
attainments of his pupil, was still farther 
evinced by him in the summer of 17.51, a 
little before the time when it was expedient, 
on account of his own declining state of 
health, to try the efficacy of a warmer climate. 
Having been desired to recommend an assist- 
ant preacher to the celebrated Dr. Chandler, 
at the Old Jewry in Loiulon, he fixed upon 
Mr. Cappe, then only in his nineteenth year, 
and recommended him so strongly, that he 
was invited to accept the situation, one of 
the greatest respectability and importance 
amongst the dissenters. This offer, it was 
imagined, could not be withstood ; but the la- 
borious student, who did not so highly appre- 
ciate his own attainments, had set his heart 
upon going to Glasgow, where the late excel- 
lent Dr, Leechman then filled the theological 
chair ; where there was at that time a constel- 
lation of eminent men, and where he hoped 
to render himself better qualified for the im- 
portant discharge of ministerial duties, than 
it was likely he ever might be, if he engaged 
in them prematurely Soon after this, Dr. 
Doddridge went to Bristol, and from thence 
to Lisbon, where he died of a consumption 
in November following, universally beloved 
and lamented. Mr. Cappe remained at North- 
ampton during the remainder of the session, 
under Mr. Samuel Clarke ; and, in the year 

B 



xxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

1752, his desire of removing to Glasgow was 
gratified. 

A person wlio is at all in the habit of 
" marking the current of events," can scarce- 
ly avoid here making a moment's pause. — 
That a youth of an ingenuous reflecting mind, 
who had been carefully educated by such a 
father, should not accede to the proposition of 
patting himself under patronage which must 
have been followed by a total dereliction of 
early principle, is not very wonderful. But, 
when an offer was made of a situation highly 
flattering and advantageous, which required 
no such sacrifice, how pure and ardent must 
have been that thirst after knowledge which 
could lead to the rejection of it ! — Yet, upon 
this single circumstance, did all the future 
events of Mr. Cappe's life depend. Had he 
gone at so early a period to have been the 
assistant minister with Dr. Chandler, to a 
London congregation, who can say, after such 
an introduction, to what celebrity he might 
afterwards have attained ? But the motives 
for his refusal being upright, it was never, 
whilst he lived, the subject of a moment's 
regret that lie did not accept the situation : 
and now, having finished his course well, 
^what a subject of thankfulness will it for ever 
be, that the station allotted him by Provi- 
dence, and acquiesced in with his own free 
and cheerful consent ; whatever, at the time, 
were its privations, its trials and its cliffi- 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxvii 

culties, should have been no other than pre- 
cisely what it was ! — For who, on looking 
back on a tempestuous sea, full of rocks and 
quicksands, which they have passed success- 
fully, would not revere and bless the pilot by 
whose wisdom and care they had been con- 
ducted in safety, by whatever course, " unto 
their desired haven !" 

It is remarkable, that although Mr. Cappe 
spent three years at Northampton, distant 
only sixty-six miles from the metropolis, 
which, in common with other young men, he 
wished to visit ; stimulated also, as I have 
often heard him say, by an ardent desire of 
hearing the celebrated Dr. Sherlock, and of 
witnessing the inimitable talents of the no less 
celebrated Garrick, both at that time in the 
zenith of their fame ; yet he never once made 
an excursion to London. He had previously 
formed a determined resolution, that no temp- 
tation should lead him to relax his studies ; 
and lie also considered it as a duty he owed 
his mother, and remaining brother and sister, 
(who at the death of their father were not left 
in affluence,) to persevere, as he had begun, 
in a plan of the strictest economy. 

At Glasgow Mr. Cappe continued three 
years, pursuing his studies with such unre- 
mitting ardour, that he seldom allowed him- 
self more than four or five hours sleep, in the 
twenty-four, A consumption had nearly been 



x-xviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

the consequence, from which he was preserv- 
ed, under the blessing of Providence, by the 
friendly care and judicious treatment of the 
great Dr. Cullen, then a professor in that col- 
lege. Happy in the successful career of in- 
tellectual pursuits ; in the cordial esteem of 
Dr. Leechman, principal of the college ; in 
the society of many amiable and ingenious 
fellow-students, a few of whom still survive ; 
in the friendship of the different professors, 
the late Dr. Adam Smith, Dr. Moore, (esteem- 
ed the most eminent Greek scholar in Eu- 
rope,) and the late Dr. Black, notwithstanding 
the pressure of an habitual head-ache, the 
days and weeks flew rapidly away. And 
here, one cannot but remark, that if to a mind 
thus constituted, the pleasure arising from in- 
tellectual and virtuous progress be so exqui- 
site, even in this present state of imperfection 
and infirmity, what must be the triumph, (to 
quote a passage from some of his manuscript 
sermons on Christian perfection, now before 
me,) when we are arrived in those nobler 
mansions of our Father's house, " where our 
acquisitions shall be made, if not without exer- 
tion, yet without painful exertion, with ease 
and with delight ; where there shall be no 
mixture of evil with our good, of errour with 
our knowledge, of discontent with our satis- 
faction, but all our virtues and all our enjoy- 
ments shall be for ever pure, for ever lively ; 
fearing no decline, experiencing no languor, 
but proceeding, w ithout interruption and with- 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxix 

wit allay, nearer and still nearer to the bless- 
edness and holiness of God." * 



The reader of sensibility will forgive me 
for inserting the following extract from the 
letter of a venerable minister of the gospel 
yet living, the fellow student, and intimate 
friend of Mr. Cappe, both at Northampton and 
Glasgow, after receiving a copy of his Me- 
moirs in August, 1802.f 

66 1, opened the parcel with reverence, and 
held its sacred contents to my view with an 
awe peculiar to such occasions. But when I 
traced the many thoughts it suggested of for- 
mer times and occurrences, when my friend 
and I walked together in our youthful and col- 
lege days, not only without one anxiety or 
painful care, but, I will say to you, without 
one sinful indulgence, even for a moment ; 
happy in the cultivation of useful knowledge, 
and of every virtuous and pious disposition ; 
you will readily conceive how the image of 
my loved companion renovated my delight- 
ful feelings. — How it led me from walk to 
walk, and poured occurrences one after another 
upon my joyful recollection. And I am 
thankful to say, that even now, in my 75tli 
year, I not only clearly review, but deeply 

* The Sermons from which this extract was taken, form part 
of a volume chieflv on practical subjects, published by the Editor in 
181,5. 

f The late Rev. Mf. Urvvick of Clapham. 



xxx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

feel my own sensations. Ours was then, and 
always continued to be, a religion that lifted 
the heart to God ; that spread moral senti- 
ments over the whole mind, and moral virtues 
over the whole life. Supported by the divine 
doctrine and promises of the gospel, our reli- 
gion disdained and defied every temptation to 
immorality the world could put before us. — I 

do not mean by all this to boast." "But I 

could not forbear writing the above, on this 
pressing occasion, in honour of my deceased 
friend, and brother, and in order to express 
my thankfulness for the benefit of a sound 
and good education ; for being taught, even 
from childhood, amidst all the diversity of 
speculative opinions, and in due depreciation 
of them, to attend to the practical religion of 
the heart and life, as the one thing needful." 

" 1 love retrospection, especially when I 

can take it with a virtuous and religious fel- 
low traveller, who lived with me in former 

times." " My friend and I entertained no 

doubt of recognizing each other in a future 
state."- — " The dead are not perished, we 
were accustomed to say to each other as we 
conversed in our chambers, or walked in the 
fields ; they must live for ever, and thus we 
usually closed our discussions, about the world 

to come." " This hope still remains, we 

were intimate and cordial friends at North- 
ampton, we were as much or more so at Glas- 
gow, and 1 trust we shall be most of all so in 
a much better and more exalted state, where 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxi 

every good thing, both moral and intellectual, 
will be improving for ever." 

Here we cannot but remark, that, if we 
may trust the united testimony of these virtu- 
ous and amiable fellow students, and why 
should they wish to deceive us ? they had 
even in their youthful days abundantly more 
true enjoyment, than the unprincipled pur- 
suers of licentious pleasure. And should 
such a character, in spite of his criminal ex- 
cesses, attain, like the writer of the above, to 
the advanced age of threescore and fifteen 
years, and accident throw in his way the me- 
moirs of a wretched partaker in his youthful 
crimes, the seducer of unwary innocence, who 
had brought down, it may be, many a hoary 
head, with sorrow to the grave — with what 
sensations would the narrative be perused ? 
Would they sooth and cheer his own rapid 
descent, to " the dark and narrow house ?" Is 
he lost to all sense of moral feeling ? Harden- 
ed in the ways of wickedness, has his mind 
become reconciled to the gloomy and abject 
hope of annihilation ? But what, if the perad- 
venture should occur to him, that death may 
not so terminate, that he and his abandoned 
companions may meet again ? Would any one 
wish to inflict, upon his bitterest enemy, a 
punishment more severe, than the mere hor- 
rour of such a possibility ? 

Mr. Cappe left Glasgow in May, 1*789 ; and 
in the November following, on the death of 



xxxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

Mr. Root, was chosen co-pastor with Mr. Ho~ 
tham of the dissenting chapel in St. Saviour- 
gate, York ; and, on the death of Mr. Hotham, 
the beginning of the ensuing year, (May £6, 
1756,) he was ordained sole pastor ; in which 
situation he ever afterwards remained. Of 
his talents as a preacher, his ardent desire 
that his hearers might not only understand 
the principles of their religion, but feel its 
power upon their hearts, and exemplify its 
efficacy to others, in the holiness of their lives, 
the reader will be enabled to form some esti- 
mate from the volume of Sermons now before 
him. 

His first publication, a sermon preached in 
November, 1757, on the victory of Rosbach, 
gained by the great Frederick of Prussia, hap- 
pening to coincide with the national feelings 
of that day, was received with an enthusiasm 
seldom equalled. It was taken up by the lead- 
ing political characters, and passed through 
thirteen editions with great rapidity. Some 
of these editions were instantly bought by 
persons of the first eminence, and sold at re- 
duced prices at their own expense, in order to 
promote the general circulation. The late 
John Lee, Esq. then of Lincoln's Inn, and 
afterwards attorney-general, during the admi- 
nistration of lord Rockingham, in a letter now 
before me, passes the highest encomiums on 
this discourse, which he says was the univer- 
sal topick of conversation and of praise ; and 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxiii 

then adds : " Of the multitude of readers that 
London lias afforded you, and several of taste 
and ingenuity I have known, not one of them 
has been sparing of the highest praise they 
could he stow ; and you will not be offended 
with the compliment of lord Ligonier, who, 
after reading it last Sunday, said, he thought 
Mr. Cappe preached as well as the king of 
Prussia fought." 

Of the manner of this sermon, I shall give 
the following short specimen : " It is Provi- 
dence that displays to us the most astonish- 
ing, the grandest, and the fairest views of 
the divine perfections : It is providence that 
pleads, with the most powerful persuasion, 
the cause of virtue and religion : It is provi- 
dence that enlivens us in the praise of God, 
that banishes all fear from our love of him, 
and all doubt from our confidence in his go- 
vernment. The giddy overlook her ; the busy 
are deaf unto her voice. Kappy he, who, 
sometimes retiring from the throng and the 
noise of life, stands as it were at a distance, 
an undisturbed spectator of its events. He 
sees the hand of God moving and directing 
the vast machine. He hears the voice of 
providence, like that which John in vision 
heard, as the voice of a great multitude, and 
as the voice of many waters, and as the voice 
of many thunderings, saying Vlleluia, for 
the Lord God Almighty and All-gracious 
reigneth." 

E 



xxxiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

Celebrity like tins might well have intoxi- 
cated the mind of a young author ; that it 
did not, in this instance, produce any such 
consequence, the reader may probably be pre- 
pared to expect. So far, indeed, in the mid- 
dle and later periods of life, was Mr. Cappe 
from thinking or speaking of this sermon 
with pleasure, that he never called it by any 
other denomination, than that of my folly. 
His mind was sensibly pained with the re- 
flexion, that in a moment of youthful ardour, 
he should have appeared as an advocate for 
employing the sword in defence of religious 
truth : being fully persuaded that true Chris- 
tianity is wholly inimical to such an appeal ; 
that its genuine conquests are those of the 
heart ; and that " the wrath of man worketh 
not the righteousness of God." 

In October 1759, Mr. Cappe married the 
eldest daughter of Mr. William Turner, mer- 
chant in Hull : in whose amiable society he 
passed thirteen years of much happiness, 
although tried by many disappointments and 
heavy afflictions. Among these were some 
considerable pecuniary losses, occasioned by 
the failure in trade of two near relatives ; their 
subsequent sickness, and death, under his 
own roof; the loss of two infant children; 
and, last of all, the declining state of Mrs. 
Cappe's health. She lingered more than two 
years, and then died of a consumption, in the 



LIFE OK THE AUTHOR. xxxv 

spring of 1773, leaving* him with six young 
children. 

Of the temper of mind with which he sus- 
tained these afflictions, the most honourable, 
and, to the eye of friendship, the most sooth- 
ing testimony remains, in a series of dis- 
courses, from which three are selected in this 
volume, and which were composed by him 
when, under their severest pressure, from the 
exhortation of the Apostle Paul to his Phi- 
lippian converts, then suffering under perse- 
cution : " Be careful for nothing, but in every 
thing, by prayer and supplication, with thanks- 
giving, let your requests be made known unto 
God." 

During this period also, Mr. Cappe incur- 
red the loss of the Rev. Edward Sandercock ; 
a friend whom he highly esteemed ; whose 
amiable and enlightened mind gave peculiar 
interest to the social hour ; and whose kind 
assistance, in his weekly ministerial labours, 
saved him many an exertion, which frequent 
indisposition, or family misfortune, would 
have rendered oppressive. 

This gentleman died in January 1770, in 
the sixty-ninth year of his age. The last 
tribute of respect and affection was paid by 
his friend, in an address spoken at his grave, 
and in a sermon delivered afterwards to a very 
numerous audience ; both of which were pub- 



xxxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

lished by general desire, but are now out of 
print.* From the address, I shall give the 
following extract. 

* Of the last moments of this excellent person, I meet with the 
following account in Mr. Cappe's handwriting, in a pocketbook : 
" Having thought that I saw in him the symptoms of instant death, I 
sat down at the head of the bed, and for some minutes expected every 
breath to be his last : perceiving, however, that he grew rather bet- 
ter, I administered to him a little of his cordial, and he presently 
revived, so far as to call to me on my sitting down again, — * Mr. Cap- 
ped I rose, and answered, -Sir?' He looked as if he would say 
something: finding that he did not, I asked, ' Would you have a little 
more of your cordial ?' ' No.' — I waited some time, in expectation 
that he would speak to me, and then asked, ' Would you have any 
thing else ?' 'No.' — I waited still some time, persuaded that he had 
something to utter ; but fearing that it might slip from him, after a 
little pause, I asked, ' What would you have, sir ?' ' My good friend, 
farewell.' I could stand no longer ; but by and by, finding him 
attempting to speak again, I rose, and stood leaning over him . he 
seemed to be pleased with the attention that was given to him, and 
said to me, in a broken voice, and interrupted sentences, * I am now 
satisfied that in these scenes of death there is nothing irreconcileable 
with the moral perceptions, (meaning, undoubtedly,) perfections of 
God — I suffer — I have many consolations — I hope I shall have patience 
to the end — the end is not far.' He prayed to God to bless me, my 
children, and all my family. He then recommended Mrs. Sandercock 
and all her friends to God ; and immediately afterwards, addressing 
himself to me, desired she might know that he was very thankful for 
all her kindness to him ; and expressed his hope that she would consi- 
der it as what she owed in gratitude to God, to bear a short separa- 
tion with resignation and cheerfulness, for she had still many mercies 
to be thankful for. ' Now,' said he, ' my good friend, you may sit 
down : if it were not for this oppression, I could sleep.' He did fall 
asleep almost immediately, and slept for a considerable time with 
great tranquillity." 

A neat marble monument was erected to his memory in the chapel 
in St. Saviourgate, in York, by his widow. The inscription, written 
by Mr. Cappe, is as follows : 

To the memory 

Of the Reverend Edward Sandercock, 

An able and faithful Minister of Jesus Christ. 

Devoted to his Master's service, 

He pursued it, and delighted in it, 

Till he died. 

Let this monumental Marble remind those who heard him, 

How his private virtues illustrated and enforced his publick teachings ; 

And ecgage them to be followers of him, 

As he was of Christ. 

Two volumes of sermons written by this gentleman> were after- 
wards published by Mr. Cappe. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxvii 

" To the earth we have committed all that 
was earthly of a Christian brother, of a faith- 
ful minister, of a much esteemed and well-be- 
loved friend. There we have left, in that 
land of silence, and forgetfulness, all that re- 
mains in this world, of one, concerning whom, 
your heart-felt grief, on this occasion, testifies 
that you numbered him among the wisest, 
the worthiest, the most devout, the most 
friendly, and the most amiable of mankind. 
How different in this day; from those happy 
days, gone to return no more, when with him 
we were accustomed to take sweet counsel 
together, and walked to this house of God in 
company ! How different is this season, from 
those happy seasons, gone to return no more, 
when his devotion animated our devotions 
here, and his lips distilled wisdom ! How dif- 
ferent the dead, from the living friend ! How 
different this house of God, which once was 
his exceeding joy, from the house that he now 
inhabiteth ! Yet that, my friends, is the house 
appointed for all the living. There, you, by 
and by, must make your bed. Great as the 
difference is between the living and the dead, 
that change must pass on you. There is a 
day, at what distance no man knows, but 
every man will acknowledge that it may be 
very near, when our places shall be vacant, 
both in God's house, and in our own ; when 
the tears of friendship shall bedew our clay- 
cold bodies ; when our funeral shall pass 
along the streets ; and the gazing multitude 



xxxviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

shall be gathered round our open graves. 
What think you of these scenes ? Is there 
nothing serious in them ? Is there nothing 
important after them ? Are you ready for 
them ? Are you fit for death ? Are you pre- 
pared for judgment ? Are you provided for 
eternity ? Is it certain that you are ? — From 
my heart I rejoice with you, for death cannot 
hurt, though he lay his hand on you to-night. 
Kay, it would be better with you than it is, if 
you were sleeping by our faithful friend. The 
living may apostatize from the paths of vir- 
tue ; but to those who are dead in Christ, who 
have continued patient in well-doing to the 
end, all that heaven means, and all that God 
has promised, is secure. Watch and pray, 
be faithful and devout, preserve your virtue, 
dispatch your work, improve your talents, for 
blessed are those servants whom their Lord 
when he cometh shall find watching." 

In the year 1771, a literary club was insti- 
tuted in York, of which Mr. Cappe was the 
planner, if not the first proposer, and which 
was kept up nearly twenty years. It consist- 
ed originally of seven members, Dr. Swains- 
ton, the Rev. Dr. Allanson, chaplain to the 
House of Commons, the Rev Mr. Howlett, 
the Rev. Mr. Tillard, rector of Wirksworth in 
Derbyshire, George Lloyd, Esq, Mr. John 
Hotham, nephew of the late minister, and 
Mr. Cappe : Dr. Hunter, Henry Goodricke, 
Esq. Dr. White, and Mr. Cappe's eldest son, 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxxix 

were afterwards admitted members. The 
number was limited to nine ; and as vacancies 
happened, the places were supplied. 

The members of the club met in rotation 
at each others' houses, every Wednesday at 
five o'clock ; when, according to the rules they 
had agreed upon, a given subject was dis- 
cussed ; which must have been proposed and 
approved the preceding Wednesday, and en- 
tered in a book kept for the purpose. The 
discussion was to be conducted in the way of 
inquiry, rather than debate ; every member 
to contribute whatever might be his informa- 
tion or discovery respecting it, to the gene- 
ral stock of knowledge. They had no other 
refreshment than coffee and tea ; and the club 
broke up precisely at nine o'clock. 

I shall select a few r of the questions propos- 
ed by Mr. Cappe, as a specimen. 

" What judgment ought to be formed of 
the conduct of Abauchas, in the story told of 
him towards the end of Lucian's Texaris ?" 

"What are the rights of man over the ani- 
mal creation, and what the principles by which 
they are limited ?" 

" The senses of taste and smell ; their con- 
nexion ; and the final causes of both." 



xl LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

"The human stature, its varieties, the li- 
mits of those varieties, and the efficient and 
final causes, of those varieties, and of their 
limitations." 

" The discovery of the polarity of the mag- 
net, and the fruits and consequences of that 
discovery." 

" The influence of diet, considered in re- 
spect of quantity as well as quality of the 
food, both upon the hodily constitution, and 
the mental powers and dispositions." 

" The influence of a great and growing 
capital on the manners and prosperity of a 
nation." 



" The origin of sea-salt\ and the uses of 
it." 



" The powers and pleasures of imagina- 
tion. Do they not decline in the progress of 
life ? And of that decline, what are the effi- 
cient and final causes ?" 

"The character of Mahomet: Was he a 
fanatick, or an impostor ?" 

" The true sense of Aristotle's definition of 
the end of tragedy." 

" The art of writing ; the modes, materials, 
and instruments of it ; and the consequences 
of this invention." 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xli 

" The annual changes that take place in 
some species of the animal creation ; their 
efficient and final causes." 

" Contagion of diseases : Its nature, extent, 
efficient, and final causes." 

" Lavater's physiognomy." 

" The infancy of mankind compared with 
that of other animals." 

" Different modes of disposing of the dead 
bodies of mankind." 

" Comparative merits of natural and civil 
history, considered as two distinct sources of 
entertainment and improvement." 

" The connexion between the colour of 
vegetable bodies and other sensible qualities ; 
and the dependence of both on light." 

" English juries." 

" The proper subjects of musick." 

" What advantages are derived or may be 
derived to man from the faculties of the 
brute creation ?" 

" Variety of seasons, compared with the 
uniformity of them, in respect to the in- 



xlii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

fluence of each on the health, the comfort, 
and the talents of mankind." 

" Comparison of the denal and duodenal 
arithmetick." 

"Migration of fishes." 

" The mode of inflicting capital punish- 
ments." 

" The condition of old people, in respect 
of sight, before the discovery of dioptrick 
glasses." 

" Is it consistent with good policy to per- 
mit the perpetual and unlimited accumulation 
of charitable donations and bequests ?" 

" Culinary salt, the origin, the use, and the 
need of it to men and other animals." 

" In what respects are the indications of 
nature to be the rule of human conduct, and 
how are these indications to be discovered 
and interpreted ?" 

"Of the real use of the knowledge of 
medals, and other such monuments of anti- 
quity." 

The close of the year 1773 was rendered 
peculiarly interesting to the writer of these 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xliii 

memoirs, by the resignation of the vicarage 
of Catterick, in Yorkshire, on motives purely 
conscientious, by her highly-honoured and 
esteemed friend, the Rev. Theophilus Lind- 
sey, the successor of her father in that bene- 
fice. Of that gentleman, so well known to 
the world, and happily still living, it may not 
be permitted her to speak ;* but that such a 
character, in circumstances of peculiar dif- 
ficulty and distress ; distress, of which no one 
who is not acquainted with all the circum- 
stances whence it arose, and who was not 
present during the scene, can form an ade- 
quate idea : that such a character should have 
been rudely attacked, at such a time, in the 
publick papers, is an instance of human de- 
pravity hardly to be credited. But what is 
too malignant for a bigot, without piety, to 
attempt ? 

The attack was made, by a dignitary of the 
church, t in the York Chronicle of January 28, 
1774, under the signature of " Erasmus." 
This attack, illiberal and abusive in the ex- 
treme, was repelled, in a very spirited and 
masterly way, by Mr Cappe, who showed on 
this, and on a few other occasions, that, when 



* The above was written in the year 1&05. This highly ve- 
nerated friend exchanged his earthly tabernacle for a heavenly in- 
heritance, in November 1808, and a very interesting memoir of 
him was published by Mr. Belsham, of Essex Street, in 1812. — 
Editor. 

f The late Dr. Cooper, rector of Kirbywhiske, and arch-deacon of 
York. 



xli? LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

powerfully excited in defence of integrity and 
truth, he did not less excel on subjects that 
led to controversy, than in other compositions 
better suited to his habits and his taste. His 
first reply was signed " A Lover of Good 
Men," and introduced by the following quo- 
tation from some printed sermons of Dr. 
Cooper's, taken as a motto : " An alacrity in 
calumniating, is one of those abominable 
qualities which the devil himself possesses 
in an eminent degree ; he is called the ad- 
versary, the hater, the accuser of the breth- 
ren." Discourses by William Cooper, M. A. 
1766, p. 80. So high was the esteem in 
which Mr. Lindsey was universally held, and 
so general the indignation excited by this vi- 
rulent attack, that no less than four different 
replies to it, from different pens, under the 
signatures of " A Layman," " A Parishioner," 
" Pro Amico," and "Martin," appeared in the 
Chronicle of the following week. There was 
also a paper signed " Philo Erasmus," meant 
as a reply to the " Lover of good Men;" in 
which the writer, (Erasmus himself,) deno- 
minates his unknown antagonist "a doughty 
champion," who, he tells the editor, " is hor- 
ridly encumbered with his heavy armour." 
The signature of " doughty champion," there- 
fore, was humourously adopted by Mr. Cappe, 
in his subsequent replies to " Philo Eras- 
mus," "Timothy quick eye," and " Bucer," 
the signatures of Dr. Cooper. A variety of 
other writers, many of them persons un- 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xlv 

known, came forward, on the defensive, in 
the course of the controversy, under the va- 
rious signatures of " Apicius secundus," " Da- 
vid Simple," " Emlyn junior," " Admonitor," 
; ' Biblicus," " Thomas Stave, the parish 
clerk," " Disconsolate Mark," " One of the 
People," ^c. ^c. The " doughty champion," 
however, continued to hold the first place, 
and " Erasmus" was at length completely 
driven off the field, beyond the possibility of 
return.* 

It was on this occasion, that the writer of 
these memoirs became first acquainted with 
the subject of them, and that the foundation 
was laid of that friendship, which although 
death may interrupt, it cannot destroy ; and 
which, she humbly trusts, will be renewed 
and perfected, where u there shall be no more 
death, neither sorrow nor tears," and " where 
God himself shall be for ever present." 

During this year, (1774,) Mr. Cappe was 
afflicted by a distressing and alarming com- 
plaint. For some months every object ap- 
peared double, which obliged him to wear 

spectacles, with one of the glasses darkened ; 

■ % 

* Towards the conclusion of the controversy, the following- epigram 
was sent to the editor of the newspaper by an unknown hand : 

44 Sore beaten and bruised, hear, the Doctor cries out, 
What means all this rage, all this riot and rout? 
What offence at Erasmus, that down he must fall, 
Examine, you'll find, he said— Nothing at all." 



xlvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

he persevered, however, in his ministerial and 
other labours ; although it may well be ima- 
gined that the exertion was not easy. 

In the August of 1776, he had the afflic- 
tion of burying his mother, who died in this 
city, in the seventy-sixth year of her age : 
she was a person of great virtue, and exem- 
plary pie ty. After this event, his sister came 
to live with him ; and to her kind attention, 
and affectionate care, his young family were 
under the greatest obligation. 

Early in the year 1777, Mr. Cappe publish- 
ed a sermon, preached on the 13th of the 
preceding December ; a day set apart for a 
general fast, during the American war. This 
sermon, not being equally in unison with the 
national prejudices of the day, was not fitted, 
like that on the victory of the king of Prus- 
sia, to become the theme of general praise : 
But, in the judgment of the truly discerning, 
it raised his character, as a preacher, to the 
first eminence. It quickly went through two 
editions ; and the highest encomiums were 
passed upon it by men of great celebrity. In 
a letter now before me, dated April 28, 4 777, 
Mr. Lee speaks of this sermon in the follow- 
ing terms : " Sir George Savile, happening to 
call on me a fortnight since, on a Sunday 
morning, 1 showed him your sermon, and read 
him several parts of it. He was delighted 
beyond measure with it, insisted on taking it 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xlrii 

away with him, and expressed some astonish- 
ment that he had not before heard a great 
deal of it : I have seen him frequently since, 
and he has never failed repeating his admira- 
tion, in terms that do him and you equal ho- 
nour. He sent to Johnson for seven or eight 
copies, but none are to be had ; and he was 
strongly disposed to take a liberty with you, 
by giving orders to print a new edition of it. 
without your knowledge. He has shown my 
copy to many eminent men, particularly to 
Mr, Burke, who dining with me the other day, 
told me that he concurred in sir George's 
opinion of the performance. It has been 
read by many in the house of commons ; and 
last night the duke of Portland sent me a 
card, to desire I would give him an opportuni- 
ty of reading it. I had no other but that 
which you were so obliging as to send me ; 
but I borrowed one of Mr. Lindsey, and sent 
it to his grace, who, I since find, had such a 
taste of part of it from sir George Savile, as 
gave him an eager longing for the rest. Per- 
haps this may produce no other consequence 
than that of introducing you to the acquain- 
tance of sir G. Savile, whose company, I think, 
you will like, and exciting a desire in some 
other eminent men, who will find it more 
difficult to come at you than he will, unless 
next year you will do me the favour to visit 
us here, which I much wish." 

As this sermon has long been out of print, 
and as some of mv readers mav be gratified 



xlviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

by seeing a specimen of what was so highly 
praised by these eminent persons, I shall 
subjoin the following extracts. 

" If to be christians in nam£ would sup- 
port our hope, there were little need ot this 
day's humiliations : But if to give success to 
our prayers it be needful that we be chris- 
tians indeed and in truth, however you may 
speak peace to your own souls, I know no 
warrant to justify your security and confi- 
dence : For, tell me, though we rank among 
the first of christian countries, is the charac- 
ter of this country christian ? To what could 
you appeal in support of that assertion ? 

" Would you allege in proof of it, that we, 
have learnt to call the vilest vices by the soft- 
est names ? that intemperance is exalted into 
sociality ; lewdness, into gayety ; adultery, 
into gallantry ; profaneness and obscenity, 
into vivacity and spirit ; frivolousness, into 
fashionableness, and hypocrisy into politeness ? 
Would you produce in proof of it that we 
have learnt to call the noblest virtues by the 
most ignominious appellations ? that devotion, 
is enthusiasm ; that conscientiousness, is scru- 
pulosity ; that integrity, is obstinacy ; that 
non-conformity to fashionable though unrea- 
sonable opinions, and to polite though im- 
moral practices, is superstition, weakness, and 
preciseness ? Are these the proofs of our 
Christianity ? 



LIFE OP THE AUTHOR. xli* 

" Will you go into our streets and tlience 
collect the evidences of intemperance, sensu- 
ality, and profaneness, which will not fail 
very soon to meet you there ?*— Will you go 
into the scenes of mercantile and commercial 
life, and thence collect the selfish projects, 
the ordinary deceptions, the authorized frauds, 
the systematick over-reachings which tradi- 
tion, not reason, which custom, not religion, 
have sanctified ? will you thence collect the 
instances of those who, hastening to be rich, 
have fallen into divers snares ; who, impa- 
tient of poverty, of mediocrity, of inferiour 
affluence, through the instigation of avarice 
or ambition, have from day to day adventur- 
ed, and at length accomplished, the ruin of 
many other families as well as of their own ? 
— Will you go into the scenes of publick en- 
tertainment, and there, in the most innocent 
of such scenes, observe a sight conspicuous 
indeed to the serious eye, the ministers of 
luxury and vanity, the panders of an out- 
rageous appetite for pleasure, more punctual- 
ly met, more freely attended, and, almost 
beyond credit, more liberally rewarded than 
the ministers of virtue, the instructers of 
youth, and the dispensers of the bread of life ? 

* What a source of consolation would it not have been to the au- 
thor, could he have foreseen the strenuous exertions of the liberal 
friends and supporters of those two most noble sister institutions, 
the British and Foreign Bible, and School Societies, so effectual in 
their tendency to prevent these enormities ! Assuredly he would 
have felt and acknowledged with holy triumph, " this is the Lord's 
doing, and it is marvellous in our eves." — Editor. 



! LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

Will you change the scenes of publick enter- 
tainment for the scenes of publick devotion, 
will you there collect the giddy crowds who 
go thither for no better purposes than those 
which carry them to every other concourse ? 
will you there collect the formalist whose re- 
ligion rests in the hearing of the word and the 
praying of the prayer ? — Will you quit these 
publick scenes for scenes more retired and 
domestick ? will you thence collect the unin- 
teresting, insipid, unedifying conversation ? 
will you there observe how fast time flows, 
and how folly flows as fast ? will you observe 
how seldom the bounds of innocence are 
kept; how commonly such assemblies are 
erected into uncandid and iniquitous tribu- 
nals, where the practices, the manners, the 
customs, the conduct of others, as innocent as 
our own, are tried by our own prejudices, and 
bv that test condemned ; where the affairs of 
others occupy an officious concern, while our 
own most important affairs, both in compa- 
ny and in solitude, are neglected ; in such 
scenes will you observe how often some ab- 
sent character is sacrificed to pride, to self- 
conceit, to malignity and ill-will. — -From these 
less publick, will you go into still more pri- 
vate scenes of life ? will you inquire into the 
government of servants ; into the education of 
children: will you produce me some evidence 
of our Christianity from these ? — If servants 
serve their masters, what care is there wheth- 
er they serve God or not ? if children are ac- 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. li 

eomplished, what care is there whether they 
be good ? 

" Education is not formed against the world, 
but for it ; not to arm us against temptations, 
but to betray us to them. — To live, to shine, 
these are the objects of education, which sel- 
dom rises higher, in one half of the world, 
than the attainment of some mechanick or some 
liberal art ; and in the other half, than the acqui- 
sition of external accomplishments. To live 
well,unblameably, laudably, andusefully ; to be 
adorned with the true beauty of universal unaf- 
fected virtue ; to shine in the solid glories of pure 
and unde filed religion, is this the object of the 
many ? their object for themselves ? their ob- 
ject for their children ? — Are the houses of 
their fathers to the rising generation the 
schools of piety, of self-government, of so- 
ber-mindedness ? Alas, here it is that they 
first learn to neglect their Creator, and to ne- 
glect their souls. Here it is that they first 
imbibe the principles of frivolism, of vanity, 
of extravagance. Here it is that they learn to 
make amusement the end of life. Here it is 
that they early receive those impressions, and 
acquire those habits which preclude the pos- 
sibility of acquiring a taste for real pleasure, 
and a capacity of solid worth. Here it is 
that they learn to seek for happiness from 
abroad, to go abroad in quest of it, and to fetch 
it in, as they expect, from every thing that 



lii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

smiles and glitters in the eye of vain imagi- 
nation. Here it is that they learn to admire 
what is not admirable, to love what is not 
lovely, to dread what is not dreadful, to place 
the point of honour where it cannot stand, to 
laugh at those things which are not ridiculous, 
to make light of that which is very serious, and 
to trifle with those things that are dangerous 
as flrebands, arrows, and death/' 

At the time when Mr. Lee's letter was 
written which I have quoted above, he was 
become the leading counsel on the northern 
circuit, and was considered as being in the 
high road to the first preferments. His invi- 
tation to his friend, to visit the metropolis, 
was constantly repeated by him every year, 
accompanied by inducements the most flatter- 
ing ; but he never could draw him thither. This 
might in part be owing to Mr. Cappe's situa- 
tion, being left with a young family, to whom 
he was tenderly attached, and whose welfare 
claimed from him unceasing attention ; to his 
having engaged in the education of a few pu- 
pils ;■ and to his ministerial connexion in this 
city, from the duties of which he never ab- 
sented himself without great reluctance. A 
cause, however, no less powerful, might pro- 
bably be found, in his own peculiar turn of 
mind. Reserved, modest, unambitious, his 
first solicitude was faithfully to discharge 
every duty, and his greatest pleasure to me- 
ditate on the works and on the word of God. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. liii 

Eminently skilled in the classick writers of 
Greece and Rome, in the Hebrew, and in the 
Hellenistick Greek, it was his supreme de- 
light to study the scriptures in their original 
languages : to consider the modes, customs, 
principles, and prejudices which prevailed 
when the gospel was first preached : the ac- 
tual state, both of the Jewish and heathen 
world, at the time when the several books of 
the New Testament were written : the effects 
which were manifestly produced upon the 
minds of all, by the continuance of miraculous 
powers among the first believers, until the de- 
struction of the Jewish polity ; and the appeal 
which was constantly made by these writers 
to this fact : to contemplate the character, the 
situation, the views, and the phraseology, both 
of the friends and enemies of the gospel : to 
enter into the sublime ideas, and to imbibe 
the heavenly temper of its Author: carefully 
to compare scripture with scripture : and from 
these various sources to endeavour everj day 
to gain more and more accurate knowledge of 
the sacred writings, and a more just and com- 
prehensive view of the goverment and provi- 
dence of God. 

The only excursion in which for many 
years he indulged himself, was an annual visit 
to his friend Mr. Constable, of Wassand, near 
Beverley, with whom he ever continued in 
habits of the strictest intimacy and friendship 
from the vear 1762. when thev were first in- 



Jiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

troduced to the acquaintance of each other, 
by their common friend, Sir Wadsworth 
Busk, late attorney-general in the Isle of 
Man. 

I know not whether it was immediately 
after the publication of the fast sermon in 
1777, that a correspondence commenced with 
Mr. Burke ; but I know that for some time 
Mr. Cappe did correspond with him, although 
I have not been able to find any of his let- 
ters. Mr. Cappe corresponded very fre- 
quently with the late Dr. Priestley, from 
the year 1761 to 1785 ; likewise regularly, 
for some years, with Mr. Lindsey ; and oc- 
casionally with the late archdeacon Black- 
burne, Mr. Turner of Wakefield, Dr. Leech- 
man of Glasgow, Dr. Adam Smith, Dr. Black, 
Dr. Kippis, the late Mr. Walker of Manches- 
ter, Dr. Toulmin, Dr. Disney, Mr. Wood of 
Leeds, Mr. Turner of Newcastle, and many 
other eminent characters. 

I find, from a great number of letters, 
now in my possession, that during the time 
of Dr. Priestley's residence at Warrington, 
at Leeds, and with the marquis of Lans- 
downe, he submitted several of his publica- 
tions to the judgment and correction of Mr. 
Cappe ; but after that period, they had not 
much communication. In a letter now be- 
fore me, dated London, March £3d, 1774, Dr. 
P. says — " I am most exceedingly concerned 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. to 

to hear of the alarming symptom you men- 
tion,* and am sorry that my work f should 
be in your hands so very unseasonably, though 
I value your remarks so much that I would 
rather wait half a year than proceed without 
them. I am so truly sensible of your supe- 
riour judgment on these things, that there 
is hardly a hint that you have suggested, 
which I have not adopted in what is yet print- 
ed of the Institutes." 

In one of his last letters from Birming- 
ham, dated March, 1784, at the beginning of 
Dr. Priestley's controversy with Bp. Horsley, 
he expresses himself in the following man- 
ner : " Dr. Horsley, 1 hear, is preparing a 
reply, and will, I believe, soon have it in the 
press — I wish you were a little nearer to me ; 
I want just such a regulator and guide as you 
would be to me in this business. You are too 
far off to be consulted on emergencies." 

These two short quotations, among many 
others that might be selected, bear ample 
testimony to the humility of this eminent and 
extraordinary person, and also to the high 
opinion he entertained of him who is the sub- 
ject of these memoirs. 

Although Mr. Cappe's disposition and pur- 
suits led to the love of privacy and retire - 

* See page xlv. 

f Institutes of Natural and Revealed Religion 



Ivi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

tnent, there was nothing in it gloomy or unso- 
cial. He was, on the contrary, uniformly 
cheerful ; and his talents for conversation, 
where he met with persons whose turn of 
mind was at all congenial, were of the first 
order. He was particularly fond of young 
children ; of observing their little actions, 
their playfulness and simplicity, and would 
even mix in their infantile sports, the source 
of so much innocent enjoyment. I have often 
heard him remark, that if arguments were 
wanting of the infinite benevolence of God, 
they might be found in the variety and multi- 
plied enjoyments of that early period. What 
pity, would he say, that forms so fair, should 
ever, in their progress through life, be despoil- 
ed of their loveliness, by the baneful influence 
of bad example, perverted sentiment, unhal- 
lowed passion, and vicious pursuit ! 

He published two more fast sermons during 
the American war, in the years 1780 and 
1781 ; a third also was published in the 
year 1795, which he had composed and preach- 
ed in the year 1783, and which is especially 
remarkable for the striking coincidence of 
our national situation at those two periods. Of 
these fast sermons, Mr. Wood lias given the 
following just, comprehensive, and beautiful 
outline, in memoirs of Mr. Cappe, originally 
prefixed to the excellent funeral sermon pub- 
lished by himself at the time, and now re- 
published, by his permission, in this volume. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Jvii 

" The first of these sermons is a strong and 
indignant invective against the vices of the 
times, in which the preacher delivers his sen- 
timents with great freedom on the origin of 
that unhappy contest, the spirit manifested in 
the prosecution of it, and the general charac- 
ter of its abettors. He surveyed from a dis- 
tance, in his retirement, the degeneracy of all 
ranks of men ; of persons in publick office ; 
of the clergy ; of the army ; of professing 
christians as well as of unbelievers ; of the 
serious and regular, as well as of the gay and 
dissipated ; and, through an optical anomaly, 
not uncommon to the mental eye, saw them, 
perhaps, in somewhat more than their full 
magnitude ; at least, he felt them with a keen- 
ness, and spake of them with a severity, of 
which he would not have been capable, had 
he been accustomed to mingle with them, 
and take a nearer view. So true is it, that we 
cannot preserve the perfect quickness of our 
moral sensibility, but by keeping as carefully 
aloof from a familiar and close survey, as from 
the actual practice of vice." 

" In the second, he takes a milder tone, but 
at the same time displays with dignity and 
force, ' the temptations and dangers incident 
in time of war, to the host that goes forth, to 
the power that sends them out, and to the 
people in whose behalf they are sent.' " 

H 



lviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

"In the third, wearied with the contem- 
plation of vice and misery, he seeks for con- 
solation and support, in the pleasing reflec- 
tion, that as the Lord God omnipotent reign- 
eth, ' all has been, is, and must be well,' In 
this discourse we discover the germ of the 
principles which are more fully developed 
in those on the providence and government 
of God."* 

" In the fourth he sinks again into de- 
spondence, and laments in a strain of tender 
compassion, the continued insensibility, luxu- 
ry, and profaneness, which threw a dark 
shade over the publick manners, and threaten- 
ed the infliction of still severer judgments." 

From the first of these fast sermons, I 
have given a pretty copious extract. The se- 
cond, preached in the year 1782, contains an 
accurate delineation of the evils incident both 
to governours and the governed by a state of 
war, whatever may be its final issue, whether 
prosperous or adverse. It strikingly points 
out the unlawfulness of war when protracted 
longer than is necessary for self-defence, and 
ascertains with great precision the conduct 
which statesmen ought to pursue, whether in 
respect of enemies or subjects. From the 
third, I shall give the following short extract, 
both as a specimen of the extensive views, 

* First published in the year 1795, and a second edition in 1811. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Jix 

taken in the first place, of the universal go- 
vernment and providence of God ; and se- 
condly, of the powerful persuasives to sheath 
the sword which cannot but present them- 
selves to the real and contemplative chris- 
tian. 

" In every thing to give thanks, to rejoice 
ever m ore, are christian precepts, and chris- 
tian principles can enable us to keep them. 
To the man who is accustomed to look at 
this life in the light that eternity reflects 
upon it, and to regard the present scene as 
his school of education for an interminable 
being, in any other light how diminutive are 
all human things ! An empire is an atom, 
and an age a moment. In the fates of indi- 
viduals, with respect to their pleasures, wealth, 
or fame ; in the fates of nations, with respect 
to their interests, prosperity, and glory, there 
can be nothing that should check his joy in 
the consideration that, in whatever names of 
power and majesty mortals may array them- 
selves, the throne of empire is really filled 
by the ever-living God. In every circum- 
stance, whether of publick or of private life, 
he and all men can do their duty, can main- 
tain their dignity, can keep good conscience 
and good hope ; pain, sickness, poverty can- 
not hinder this ; the battle, the conflagration, 
the tyrant cannot hinder this ; and, as to the 
rest, the intention is kind, and the issue good, 
and a few short days will bring him to that 



Ix LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

transporting moment, beyond which pain, in- 
justice, folly, imperfection cannot follow him, 
and to that happy land whose inhabitants are 
all righteous. 

" If a patriot-king, the benefit of whose 
virtues extends but to a few provinces, and 
lasts but for a few years, is, at all times, a 
blessing so devoutly to be wished for, what a 
subject of triumph and rejoicing is it that 
this kingdom and that kingdom, this world 
and every world are governed hy a Parent- 
God ! That King of kings can never forfeit 
his right to your allegiance, can never alien- 
ate your affections from him, can never vacate 
the throne on which he sits, or create in you 
a wish that he should vacate it : out of his 
dominions, out of his protection, out of his 
blessing you cannot be ; living, dying, dead, 
reviving, you are his subjects and he is your 
God. Rejoice then in the Lord, O ye right- 
eous, for praise is comely for the upright. 

"...,. .If these things cannot touch you," 
(namely, that in the sight of God all men are 
brethren) " look before you to that quiet grave 
whither, by and by, with you, all the actors on 
this tumultuous scene will be withdrawn, 
where the monarch will have found his no- 
thingness, and his armies felt their impo- 
tence ; where the bubbles, motes, and sha- 
dows that now excite such mighty agitations, 
shall make no impression on you ; where 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixi 

your hearts, become cold to every earthly in- 
terest, shall at length be still, and enemies, 
their enmity extinguished, shall sleep, beside 
each other, in security and peace. 

" If this cannot humanize you, look to that 
high tribunal, where the ambitious ruler shall 
be ashamed, at last, of the low pursuits, the 
petty trifles, and the glow-worm glories that 
seduced him ; where the sanguinary hero 
shall shudder at the blood he once shed with- 
out remorse, and where no warriour shall jus- 
tify himself, but the patriot whose sword was 
the weapon of defence, and the protection of 
the injured and oppressed. 

" If this cannot move you to discard your pre- 
judices, to curb your selfishness, to abash your 
passions, reciprocally to embrace as friends 
and to love as brethren, think again, and yield 
yourselves to the benignant influences of the 
thought, that the hour cometh, when, the im- 
perfections of human governments being abo- 
lished, and the interfering interests of morta- 
lity annihilated, in the city of the living God, 
all the sincere, though misguided, children of 
his family, out of every nation, tongue, and 
kindred, even the generations that have fallen 
by each other's swords, looking back on the 
events, in which, perhaps, they saw nothing 
wise, and felt nothing kind, shall be heard 
throughout all that wide-stretched region, as 
the voice of a great multitude, and as the 



Ixii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

voice of many waters, and as the voice of 
mighty thunderings, exulting together in the 
government of God, and calling on each other 
to be glad, and to rejoice, and to give honour 
to him, saying, Alleluia, for the Lord God 
Omnipotent is King. — Amen. Alleluia." 

These fast sermons procured him the re- 
spect of many eminent persons ; among 
others, his friendship was sought by Charles 
Polhill, esq. of Chepstead Place, in Kent ; 
and a passage from one of them was quoted 
by Mr. Erskine, on the famous trial of Payne. 

In the summer of 1782, Mr. Cappe was 
attacked by the influenza. He had several 
relapses, and in the November following was 
siezed with a fever, from which his recovery 
was not expected, and in consequence of which 
he was confined to his room, and bed, seve- 
ral weeks. In this fever he was attended 
with the greatest kindness and assiduity by 
his two medical friends in this city, the late 
Dr. Swainston and the late Dr. Hunter, and 
by his eldest son, who sat up with him nine 
nights in succession. 

It was his constant custom to mark care- 
fully the current of events in order to ex- 
tract from them such important reflections as 
might be useful to himself or others ; and 
having now risen as it were from the margin 
of the grave, on his happy return to his mi- 
nisterial labours, after an absence of eleven 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixiii 

weeks, he gladly seized the occasion, in a 
manner peculiarly his own, of showing forth 
the goodness of God, when he wounds as well 
as when he heals. These sermons form the 
concluding part of this volume. 

Mr. Cappe had long been solicited to make 
a selection of psalms, corrected by himself for 
publick worship. In the year 1785, he com- 
plied with this request, and the selection was 
published in 1786. It was adopted by his 
own congregation in this city, by that of Mr. 
Wood of Leeds, Mr. Turner of Newcastle, 
and some others ; but as it was not advertised 
in any of the publick papers, it could not be 
noticed by the periodical prints, and conse- 
quently was never much known. The prin- 
ciples on which this selection of psalms were 
made, are stated in the preface ; of which the 
leading ones are, accuracy of sentiment, and 
care to avoid all such peculiarities of opinion 
as might prevent any conscientious christian 
from joining in the use of them.* To these 

* I shall give a specimen of this in the 32d psalm of the first 
book, from the version of Dr. Watts, of the 17th psalm of David; 
in which, among lesser alterations, the last stanza is so constructed, 
that it may be used by all Christians, whatever may be their pecu- 
liar opinions respecting the period when a future life shall com- 
mence, whether immediately on the termination of the presrnt 
scene, or not until a general judgment. 

PSALM XXXII. 

Christian Resignation and Hope. 

Lord I am thine, and thou wilt prove. 
My faith, my patience, and my love : 



Ixiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

psalms is prefixed an explication of some 
scriptural terms, and phrases which occur in 
them. 

In the February of 1788, the writer of these 
memoirs became a member of Mr. Cappe's 
family: As he had not at this time any pu- 
pils, and from that and other causes, having 
more leisure than formerly, he was prevailed 
upon, after some time, by his newly-acquired 
amanuensis, to dictate now and then for half 
an hour, when fatigued with more laborious 
occupation, from his corrected short-hand, 
with a view to publication. His general state 
of health had suffered extremely from too 
great mental exertion, although he had always 
taken horse-exercise whenever the weather 

What e'er the trial, I'll complain 
Of nought thy wisdom shall ordain. 

What sinners value I resign ; 
Lord, 'tis enough that thou art mine : 
I shall behold thee face to face, 
And stand complete in righteousness. 

This life's a dream, a transient show ; 
The eternal world to which I go, 
Hath joys substantial and sincere, 
When shall I wake and find me there ? 

glorious hour ! O blest abode ! 

1 shall be near, and like my God ! 
And flesh and sin no more controul 
The sacred pleasures of the soul. 

The change will come : this active mind 
To earth's dark scenes no more confin'd, 
Shall burst the chains with glad surprise. 
And in the Saviour's image rise. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixr 

would permit ; but even in these rides his 
mind was still actively employed ; in them, 
many of his sermons were, in great measure, 
composed. The study of the scriptures, as 
already mentioned, was ever his supreme de- 
light. For more than forty years he never 
went any where unaccompanied by a pocket 
Greek Testament, in which it was his custom 
to mark down hints, as they occurred to him, 
of whatever might strike his mind, as merit- 
ing farther consideration, upon pieces of card, 
or small slips of paper, or upon a slate table ; 
these hints were from time to time examined, 
and at length formed into a rough draft. He 
then dismissed that particular subject for 
some time from his mind, in order that he 
might apply to it anew with more vigour and 
effect ; and it was not till after he had fully 
weighed every, the most minute circum- 
stance, in all its bearings and connexions, 
that the dissertation was transcribed a third 
time correctly in short-hand. Considering 
the gospel as of the highest importance to 
the happiness of man, both here and here- 
after, it is literally true, that he experienced 
more delight of heart in the elucidation of an 
obscure passage, in removing a difficulty, or 
reconciling an apparent contradiction, than 
he would have done, if put in possession of 
every thing which the children of this world 
consider as most desirable. " Rejoice with 
me," he would often say, when coming from 
his study with brightened looks, and a more 



lxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

highly animated countenance, " for I think F 
hare discovered the true meaning of a pas- 
sage, which 1 never understood before !" 

Much, however, as he delighted in critical 
research, subjects of this sort were seldom 
the topicks of his publick teaching. Holiness 
of heart, and life, he considered as of first im- 
portance ; and to the attainment and cultiva- 
tion of these, his discourses in the pulpit, of 
which the few that are given in this volume 
are a fair specimen, were principally direct- 
ed. 

In the February of 1791, Mr. Cappe's 
resignation and fortitude was put to a most 
severe trial, by the death of his eldest son, 
Dr. Joseph Cappe ; an instance of whose filial 
piety has been already mentioned. He had 
studied medicine in London and Edinburgh, 
had taken his degree at Leyden, and had fix- 
ed his residence in this city a few months 
before his death. He was a young man of 
great virtue, peculiarly eminent for accuracy 
and distinctness of perception, soundness of 
judgment, and solidity of mind. He possessed 
extensive knowledge, adorned by a lively ima- 
gination ; and had been the confidential com- 
panion and friend of his honoured father, 
under the pressure of many a domestick sor- 
row, in which his brothers and sisters were 
too young, at the time, to participate. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixvii 

It fell to the lot of the writer of these me- 
moirs, to acquaint Mr. Cappe with this most 
afflictive event. It was in the morning, he- 
fore he had risen : — " Leave me a moment," 
he said, " if you please ;" and in less than 
half an hour, he dressed himself, came down 
stairs, and calling the family as usual to 
morning prayer, he poured out his soul in the 
presence of his Maker, in a strain of humble 
confidence, and of pious resignation, never to 
be forgotten. He endured on this occasion 
every thing that the acutest sensibility, and 
the most ardent affection for the son he had 
lost, could inflict ; yet his fortitude never for- 
sook him : it supported him even to the grave 
of his beloved son, where he himself perform- 
ed the funeral service three days after, late in 
the evening, accompanied only by the neces- 
sary attendants. This painful effort the writer 
of these memoirs would gladly have prevent- 
ed ; " I received him from God," was his 
answer, ;i and to him I must resign him." So 
composed was his mind after this trying ser- 
vice, and so attentive was he, even in circum- 
stances like these, to the feelings of others, 
that apprehending her mother, then much in 
years, might suffer from her anxiety on his 
account, he sent his clerk to inform her im- 
mediately after the whole was over, that he 
was very well. 

It has been already mentioned, that it was 
the habit of Mr. Cappe, to mark carefully the 



Ixviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

current of events, and to extract from them 
such reflections, as might he useful to himself 
or others. 

I shall make a few extracts from two dis- 
courses, preached by him, on hearing of tjie 
early death of a young gentleman of consider- 
able hopes and expectations, who had been 
his pupil, and was well known to many in his 
congregation, on the following text : — " What 
is your life ? It is even as a vapour, it appear- 
eth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." 
How far the animation of the preacher could 
give interest to a subject, which however im- 
portant, is so familiar to us, (for we all know 
that life is often short, and that it is always 
uncertain,) the reader will be able in some 
measure, from these extracts, to appreciate. 

After an appropriate introduction, and an 
animated address to the testimony of the 
aged, even in respect of their experience of 
the shortness of life, he thus proceeds : " Ask 
them to look back upon the scenes through 
which they have passed, upon the years which 
the}^ have spent ; entreat them to tell you in 
what light they see them ; attend unto their 
answer, for with the aged there is wisdom. 
What is it they reply? They confirm the 
oracle of God ; the weaver's shuttle, they say, 
is not more swift ; the shooting star is not 
more momentary, evanescent, and unreal.",... 
" Some of you may consult your children, in- 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixix 

stead of advising with jour fathers ; and all of 
you, I believe, may ask your brethren, if the 
time be not very short. The registers of the 
dead are not unfaithful ; they cannot err ; 
they are not interested ; consult the registers 
of the dead. Look upon the tombs, are their 
inhabitants all old ? No, not all; many? No, 
not many; the aged are a thinly scattered 
number. Infants there are, who have been 
born to weep and die ; babes there are, who 
in all their sportive innocence, have gone down 
into the grave ; youths there are, who in their 
gayest hours, and amidst the most pleasurable 
scenes, have been recalletl to lie down in 
darkness, and the dust. Numbers too there 
are, who in the pride of manhood, the matu- 
rity of life, in the full career of business and 
of hope, have been eased of all their anxie- 
ties, and defeated of all their expectations, 
and fast bound in the fetters of death. — 
The young lie thick as dew-drops on the 
ground ; here and there only do we find a 
monument erected unto years and wisdom ; 
we wonder when we find it, and yet this our 
wonder does not cure us of our security and 
confidence. ".../•' Perhaps, even now, the scythe 
of time is lifted up to cut down those who 
little think of it, who are expecting the de- 
parture of their friends, or preparing to con- 
vey their fathers to the tomb." "To-mor- 
row, that idol deity in which the world have 
agreed to place their trust ; to-morrow, that 
hair-spun thread, on which they hang the 



Ixx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

weighty concerments of eternity, what is to- 
morrow ? No part of our possessions, no part 
of our inheritance ; it is a part in the great 
chain of duration, but perhaps no part of our 
present being. Clear and bright, and steady 
as it shines to-day, some sudden blast may 
blow out the lamp of life ; and to-morrow 
may hare conveyed us into other company, 
and settled us in other scenes. ' Boast not,' 
my friends, ' of to-morrow,' till you have un- 
rolled the book of fate, and learnt what to- 
day shall bring forth." " Last night, it is 

probable, many a gay youth threw himself 
upon the bed, whence he shall arise no more ; 
and many a busy head reposed itself on that 
pillow, where it shall sleep on now, and take 
its rest. How sad and serious are many now, 
who but last night were giddy, thoughtless, 
presumptuous, and vain ; how terrible has this 
to-morrow proved to many, who but yester- 
day said unto themselves that it was yet soon 
enough to repent and be converted ? ' Thou 
fool, this night shall thy soul be required of 
thee,' was a short, a severe, and yet a gracious 

warning." " In every breeze that blows, 

there is a flight of human fates ; in every 
breath we breathe, we may drink in the dead- 
ly poison ; every hour we stand in jeopardy, 
then ' verily every man at his best estate, is 
altogether vanity.' In every walk we take, 
death treads upon our steps ; he watches us 
in our retirements, he follows us in our busi- 
ness, he mingles with the angels that stand 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. lxxi 

round our beds ; in that very moment, when 
our hearts are most attached to the world ; 
in that very moment when we are least ap- 
prehensive of our fate, then the tyrant springs 
upon his prey, rejoicing to add unto his na- 
tive horrours, the accessory terrours of sur- 
prise. ' In the midst of life, we are in death ;' 
in the bloom of life, we are in danger of some 
fatal blight ; in the highest health, we may 
be nearest to some mortal malady. What 
then is your life ? Is it not a fleeting cloud, 
an evaporating smoke, an exploding meteor, 
a painted bubble ? Break the bubble must ; 
in its greatest beauty it will break, and it may 
break ere night." 

Of the uses to be made of these reflections 
on the shortness and uncertainty of life, he 

thus speaks: " If life be so short, and so 

uncertain, then ought we not to be prodigal of 
time ?....When you can arrest the passing mo- 
ments, then you may abuse them ; when you 
can say that you have finished the work of 
life, then you may amuse yourselves. Of our 
honour we are jealous, of our wealth we are 
parsimonious, of our labour we are frugal, 
but our time we waste upon the follies, we 
waste it on the pleasures, we waste it on the 
cares of this life ; we give it unto every one 
that asks it of us ; nor are we sensible of our 
extravagance, perhaps, till the world cannot 
purchase us another hour. Time was given 
us, that we might buy with it the blessings of 



Ixxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

eternity ; as the revenue comes in, we expend 
it on the vanities of this world ; and when we 
should enter on that glorious inheritance, we 
find ourselves poor, and miserable, and blind, 
and naked."* 

During the summer of the year 1790, Mr. 
Cappe had had many threatnings of a para- 
lytick attack, but the awful blow was suspend- 
ed until the 2d of May, 1791; a morning 
ever to be remembered by the writer of these 
memoirs, when this friend of her heart, to 
whose great and fine qualities she was perhaps 
too ardently attached, was suddenly seized 
with a dreadful stroke of the palsy! He had 
taken a ride to a neighbouring village to bap- 
tize a child, and the morning being fine, had 
afterwards prolonged his ride, when suddenly, 
in a sandy lane, finding his head extremely 
uncomfortable, he threw 7 himself from his 

* I was much struck and affected by reading a volume of Poems 
published by Dr. Aikin in 1803, written by the late Henry IVJoore, a 
fellow student of Mr. Cappe's at Northampton. The strain of senti- 
ment that generally runs through them is so much in the manner of 
Mr. Cappe, that I could have supposed them to have been written by 
himself. How strongly, for instance, did the following passage in the 
Ode to Contentment bring his image to my mind ! 

Divine Contentment ! still be nigh 

To cheer me with thy placid eye. 
While thro' this fleeting Life's short various day 
A humble Pilgrim here I plod my way, 
May no ambitious dreams delude my mind, 
Impatience hence be far — and far be Pride ; 
Whate'er my lot, on Heav'n's kind care reclin'd, 
Be Piety my comfort — Faith my guide. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. kxiii 

horse, and was found almost immediately after, 
by a neighbouring gentleman, the faithful 
animal standing by him, as if conscious of 
his master's situation. The circumstance of 
the deep sand in the lane, preserved him 
from being injured by the fall ; but his life, 
notwithstanding, was despaired of for many 
weeks. At length, it pleased the Almighty 
in some measure to restore him ; but although 
he continued afterwards to read and to com- 
pose occasionally, yet he was never able again 
to resume his ministerial labours. 

In the summer of 1792, he was so far re- 
covered, as to make a visit, accompanied by 
myself, to his old friend Mr. Lee, (at Stain- 
drop, in the county of Durham,) then in a 
very declining state of health, but still in full 
possession of his extraordinary conversation- 
al talents. We were met there by Mr. Con- 
stable of Was sand ; and, by a singular coin- 
cidence of circumstances, by Sir Wadsworth 
Buske also, at that time resident in the Isle of 
Man, Sir W. Buske did not know that his 
two other friends were at Staindrop ; but be- 
ing at Harrogate, and wishing to visit Sir. Lee, 
his arrival was unexpectedly announced one 
morning at breakfast, just after' it had been 
remarked by Mrs. Lee, that the three old 
friends wanted only the addition of Sir Wads- 
worth Buske ; to complete their happiness ! 

k 



Ixxiv LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

On the 7th of April, in the year 1793, Mr. 
Cappe had a second par aly tick seizure, which, 
although it affected him differently, was not 
less severe than the first, and by which his 
life was again for many weeks in the most 
imminent danger ; and from this he never so 
far recovered as to be able to walk without 
considerable assistance, or to speak without 
difficulty and pain. In circumstances like 
these, it might seem to many, that his life 
was no longer desirable ; but these saw only 
how much was lost ; they did not know in how 
many ways he could still administer to the 
comfort and happiness of others ; and how 
ample were the stores of enjoyment and of 
hope, that remained to himself. He could 
still instruct, by exemplifying, in practice, the 
efficacy of those divine precepts of resigna- 
tion and fortitude, which, in theory, he had so 
often and so ably taught ; and those who lov- 
ed him had still the consolation of endeavour- 
ing to lighten his burdens, and of anticipat- 
ing his wishes. The powers of recollection 
were still spared him, and they brought with 
them the constant testimony of a life well 
spent. Although he could no longer labori- 
ously explore, and endeavour to bring to light 
the treasures of knowledge that lie hidden 
in the sacred volume, its precepts, its conso- 
lations, and its hopes, were engraven on his 
heart, and of these, disease did not deprive 
him. Tt was even still permitted him to la- 
bour in the vineyard of his honoured Master, 



LIFE OF THK AUTHOR. \xjlv 

by dictating from his short-hand papers to an 
amanuensis, who could have no pleasure in 
this world equal to the effort of contributing 
to his happiness, and of being instrumental 
to the preservation of papers which she deem- 
ed so inestimable. Some hours in almost 
every day, for nearly nine years, were dedicat- 
ed to this employment, to which all others 
were made to give way ; and so ample were 
the stores from which these treasures were 
drawn, that although many volumes have been 
transcribed, together with an harmony and 
notes on the whole New Testament, many 
more remain locked up in an unintelligible 
short-hand. Among these the editor regrets 
principally, his notes upon Dr. Hartley's Ob- 
servations on Man ; a work which Mr. Cappe 
had closely studied, and estimated very high- 
ly, and of which it was his intention to have 
published a new edition. These notes, which 
are extremely numerous, unfortunately had 
not advanced beyond a short-hand rough draft, 
which was to have been again revised, and 
many of them are written with a pencil, which 
made the reading of them attended with dif- 
ficulty ; so that he was never equal to the la- 
bour of doing it, and of correcting, arranging, 
and re-transcribing. 

It is well known, during the period of which 
we are speaking, that infidelity was not only 
professed openly in a neighbouring nation, but 
that in this country also, if it did not avow it" 



lxxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

self in terms quite so direct, Christianity was 
treated by many writers of sufficient celebri- 
ty, with studied neglect.* Painfully impress- 
ed by these circumstances, I adverted to the 
apprehensions they excited, as I was tran- 
scribing the reasons assigned by Mr. Cappe, 
to believe even from present appearances, that 
Christianity would finally prevail ; and asked 
him if it might not be well to intermingle 
some reflections on events then taking place ?f 
" By no means," he replied, " depend upon it, 
these are only passing clouds, not worth the 

* This fashionable mode of treating Christianity by a certain class 
of writers, or rather of passing it over in profound silence, is thus 
well adverted to, by an able female writer of the present day. — 
"Avowed attacks upon revelation are more easily resisted, because 
the malignity is advertised. But who suspects the destruction which 
lurks under the harmless or instructive names, of General History, 
Natural History, Travels, Voyages, Lives, Encyclopedias, Criticism, 
and Romances ? Who will deny that many of these works contain 
much admirable matter; brilliant passages, important facts, just de- 
scriptions, faithful pictures of nature, and valuable illustrations of 
science ? But while ' the dead fly lies at the bottom,' the whole will 
exhale a corrupt and pestilential stench." Mrs. Hannah lore's 
Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education, Vol. I, pages 
31, 32. 

f One of the passages alluded to, is as follows. Having enumerat- 
ed some of the difficulties which the gospel had to encounter on its 
first promulgation, and of the probabilities at that time against its 
success, y\r. Cappe observes. " In the circumstances of the gospel 
now, there are no such reasons to apprehend its extinction, or con- 
finement." (viz. to an obscure province, like Judea.) "The increas- 
ing facility and extent of human intercourse, the growing comprehen- 
sion of the human understanding; the improved liberality of luiman 
sentiments ; the wide distribution of the gospel records ; the acknow- 
ledged excellence of the gospel morality; the advancing separation 
of the corruptions that had been intermingled with it from the truth 
as V is in Jesus ; the debates that have arisen concerning its eviden- 
ces and its doctrines, which have been the means of placing them 
in the clearest light, and fixing them upon their true foundation; all 
these things conspire to suggest and to support the assured hope, that 
the gates of death never shall prevail against the word of Jesus." 
Dissertations, Vol, I, pages 126, 127. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixxvii 

notice." And indeed it is remarkable, that 
the unanimity of his mind was never for a 
moment disturbed by them, for he well knew 
on whom lie had believed ; and may 1 not 
here be allowed to remark, that already, even 
in the short interval of seven years, these 
" passing clouds" are beginning to vanish 
away ? The substitution of philosophy, falsely 
so called, (for genuine philosophy is her stead- 
fast friend) in place of Christianity, has not 
produced all the glorious effects that were 
predicted of its advent, — The inhabitants of 
a neighbouring nation are not become of all 
others, the most enlightened, the most free, 
or the most happy ;* and if it lias failed in 
this Avorld, where its laurels avowedly were 
to be reaped, it will not be affirmed that it 
has any indemnification to offer in the con- 
templation of another, in which it professes 
not to believe, and for which it is altogether 
unprepared. 

Among the pleasures of which Mr. Cappe 
was never wholly deprived, those must be 
reckoned which resulted from the contem- 
plation of the works, as well as of the word of 
God. Although unable to walk, or to ride 

* II this were true in the year 1805, what shall we say of the state 
of that iDiserable country at the present day 1816? Let the foreign 
armies that live upon her plains ; — the total loss of all serious 
thought and moral principle in the hulk of her people ;— the wretch- 
ed debasing superstition of her rulers and pharisaieal priesthood; — 
tog^er with the cruel sword of persecution drawn in its defence, 
bearing their united testimony to her complete degradation, give 
the answer. — Editor. 



Ixxviii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

on horseback, he was drawn in a little car- 
riage, when the weather would permit, in the 
open air, where he could enjoy the pleasures 
of spring, and watch the progress of vegeta- 
tion. Still he could admire the glories of 
a setting sun, in the contemplation of which 
he had ever had the greatest pleasure ; enjoy 
the fragrance of the evening breeze ; gaze 
with calm delight on the vaulted canopy of 
heaven, studded with innumerable worlds ; 
and join with Milton in his elevated hymn of 
praise — 

" These are thy wond'rous works, 
Parent ol* good : thus wond'rous fair, 
Thyself how wond'rous then !" 

- To say that he never discovered any fret- 
fulness ; that he never once repined at the 
dispensations of Providence ; that he never 
once regretted the powers he had lost ; (al- 
though he was fully sensible of their loss, " I 
once knew a little,'' he was accustomed to 
say !) would be to fall very short of a true 
representation of his actual state of mind, 
which was always composed, serene, and 
cheerful, and on which was constantly impress- 
ed a sense of gratitude, of thankfulness, and 
of praise. 

In him surely we see an example supply- 
ing the most powerful incentive, even were 
this world only concerned, to the diligent cul- 
tivation, and faithful improvement of our seve- 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixrix 

ral talents, whatever they may he. Had the 
early days of the character under contempla- 
tion been consumed, we will not say in vice, 
but in the pursuit of those objects which the 
men of this world seek after, of pleasure, of 
ambition, or of gain, would such have been 
his resources in the day of trial ? Would such 
have been the hope, that, amidst the storm 
and tempest, can repose, with full security, 
on the " Rock of Ages ?" So true it is, that 
" to the upright there ariseth light in the 
darkness :" So true it is, generally speak- 
ing, even in respect of what relates to the 
present scene, that " whatsoever a man sow- 
eth, that shall he also reap !" 

Among his many remaining comforts, Mr. 
Cappe always reckoned in the foremost rank, 
the having met with a colleague,* in whom 
he early discovered an ardent love of truth, 
especially of religious truth ; talents equal to 
its development, and dispositions the most 
amiable. He felt for him a truly paternal af- 
fection ; often did he please himself with anti- 
cipating what he believed would be his future 
eminence : and he always looked forward to 
him as his successor in his ministerial office 
in this city, with singular complacency and 
satisfaction. 

In the night of the lGth of September, 1799. 
Mr. Cappe had a third paralytick attack : 

The Rer. Charles Wellbeloved. 



lxxx LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

which, although it did not, like the two fore- 
going, seem to threaten immediate dissolution, 
yet so greatly impaired his remaining bodily 
powers, so affected his articulation, and weak- 
ened his whole frame, that we were obliged, 
in a great measure, ever after to lay aside the 
occupation of transcribing, which hitd hither- 
to been the source of so much pleasure and 
consolation. Still, however, his resignation, 
his fortitude, and his cheerfulness remained. 
That what had happened to him was the will 
of his heavenly Father, was ground sufficient 
not of acquiescence merely, but of firm per- 
suasion, that it was the best that could have 
been, both for himself and others. Even his 
countenance lost nothing of its wonted com- 
posure and benignity : he was prevailed upon, 
after this, to have his picture taken, which 
fortunately bears a strong likeness : and now 
that the original is no longer present, it is 
soothing to the sorrowing mind, to be able, by 
this means, to call to its remembrance in a 
more vivid form, the piety, resignation, and 
benevolence that was ever depicted in the 
living prototype. 

Mr. Scott of Amwell was one of his fa- 
vourite poets, and the " Elegy on the Ap- 
proach of Winter," his favourite piece. With 
what pleasure did lie quote the following stan- 
zas, where the poet, speaking of contentment, 
says, 



LltfU; U* VtitL AUTHUK. IJWK1 

11 She finds in winter many a view to please ; 
The morning landscape fringed with frost-work gay, 
The sun at noon seen through the leafless trees, 
The clear calm ether at the close of day : 
She bids, for all, our grateful praise arise, 
To Him, whose mandate spake the world to form : 
Gave Spring's gay bloom, and Summer's cheerful skies, 
And Autumn's corn-clad field, and Winter's sounding storm.*' 

Within the last few months of his life, his 
sight failed exceedingly. "I believe I shall 
be quite blind," he often said to me ; and 
on my replying, " I hope not," his answer 
constantly was, " I have neither hope nor 
fear upon the subject, and do not you fear. I 
mention it," he continued, w merely as a fact, 
not as a subject of regret." 

About the middle of December, 1800, he 
appeared to hare' caught cold, but it was not 
attended by any symptoms that created much 
unusual alarm. His breathing, indeed, when 
in a recumbent posture, was difficult, but it 
had frequently been so ever since his last 
paralytick attack. On Monday the 22d, a 
gentleman called upon him, whom he had not 
seen for many years : and beins* forcibly struck 
and affected b} r his extreme feebleness, he 
said to him, " What great alterations, sir, have 
taken place since we last met!" i; It is true," 
he replied, "great alterations have taken place, 
yet. I assure you, 1 never was happier in my 
life ;" and he then enumerated the many 
blessings he still possessed. At night he 



lxxxii LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 

had a shivering fit, after which he sunk- rapid- 
ly ; and, about two o'clock, on the morning of 
the 24th of December, without a groan or a 
sigh, he ended his earthly pilgrimage. He 
appeared to be perfectly sensible to the last, 
and filly conscious of his own situation ; thank- 
ed every one, repeatedly, for their attention 
to him, and several times added something 
more, which it was evident, from his manner, 
was of the consolatory kind to his sorrowing 
attendants ; but his articulation was so im- 
perfect, that it could not be understood. 

If the reader of these memoirs has ever 
possessed such a friend, and has experienced 
what it is to see his plate vacant, he will then 
comprehend what are the feelings of the wri- 
ter of them ! To such an one, how inestima- 
ble are the hopes, the promises of the gospel ! 
Well did our blessed Lord understand their 
unspeakable value, when, in one of his beau- 
tifully prophetick parables, anticipating the 
future fates of the gospel, he compares it to 
a pearl of great price, which, being found by 
a merchantman, he went and sold all that he 
had, to purchase it!— "The gospel lives, 
though the preachers of the gospel die. In 
that there is no change, the everlasting gos- 
pel is its name. No vicissitudes of private 
life, no civil tumults, no publick revolutions, 
can injure or endanger it. What a consola- 
tion ! It has comforted our departed friends. 



LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. lxxxiii 

When we are dead, it will comfort our sur- 
viving relatives. It will guide the living, and 
sustain the dying, till that glorious period of 
the Divine Administration shall arrive, when 
sin, and pain, and death, shall be no more."* 
Amen. Alleluia ! 

York, May 19, 1805. 



Mr. Cappe's Sermon on the death of Mr. Sandercock, 1770. 



DISCOURSE I. 

ON FAlTtt IN GENERAL, AND RELIGIOUS FAITH 
IN PARTICULAR. 



Hebrews xi. 1. 

Now Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of 
things unseen. 

r aith in general is any kind of persuasion, proceed- 
ing from testimony concerning any thing whatever* 
that is not the immediate object of our own con- 
sciousness, or of our own senses. • Whatever truths 
we hold upon the evidence of sense or consciousness* 
or by necessary consequences legitimately deduced* 
these truths we know : on the other hand, whatever 
truths we derive from any other source ; be it from 
the relation of others, or by rational deductions from 
their depositions, these truths we believe. The re- 
sult of the former principles, is knowledge ; the ef- 
fect of the latter, faith. Religious knowledge is 
very seldom distinguished from religious faith ; and 
for the ordinary purposes of life, in the regulation 
of our temper, and the direction of our conduct, 
there is no need of such distinctions. In fact, the 
far greater and more interesting part of our religious 
principles is derived from Faith ; yet such is the 
degree of evidence resulting from the testimony of 
Christ and his Apostles, respecting those truths 
which we receive through them, that our faith in 
these, approaches as near as may be unto know- 
ledge. 

I 



86 On Faith in general, and 

Religous Faith is properly that conviction con- 
cerning past, future, or unseen things, relating to 
God, his will, his counsels, or his providence, which 
is produced in us, by the testimony ot prophets 
whom he hath sent and authorized. 

This it is in respect to its nature and its origin ; 
and in respect to its effects, the Apostle tells us, that 
" it is the substance of things hoped for, the evi- 
dence of things unseen." Though the version be 
somewhat obscure, yet the original is sufficiently 
perspicuous, but the terms of it are of such a nature, 
that without circumlocution it would have been im- 
possible perhaps to have expressed the sense of the 
passage more perfectly than in the words of the text. 
It is not however, so properly a philosophical defi- 
nition of Faith, as, according to the manner of this- 
Apostle, a rhetorical encomium on it. " Faith," 
says he, " is that act of the mind, which makes things 
hoped for, to be ; it is that principle which places 
things unseen, in a clear, convincing, and affecting 
light. It gives to future things a reality in respect 
to us, which if we were devoid of this principle, 
however certain in themselves, they would not have." 
And having said so much of Faith, he goes on to 
enlarge his affirmation, and to amplify the excel- 
lence of his subject, by extending what he had al- 
ready affirmed concerning the objects of hope, to 
whatever things which are not in themselves the ob- 
jects of our senses, whether past, present, or to 
come. 

Faith is the great principle of the Christian life, 
for it is in every sense true, that the Christian walks 
bv faith and not by sight; he is neither governed 
by the things of this present world, nor does he yet 
see all the things which are the objects of his prin- 



Religious Faitk in particular. 8<~ 

eipal attention, affection, and pursuit. The wise 
and good, under the patriarchal, and Jewish dispen- 
sations, walked by faith; and accordingly the Apos- 
tle goes on to celebrate the faith of Abel, Enoch, 
Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, and 
others ; characters in preceding ages, whose virtues 
had adorned the times and dispensations under 
which they lived.* 

Even in the Gentile world, which had no other 
notion of invisible and future things, than what was 
derived from the light of nature, aided perhaps by 
the remains of primitive tradition, those who re- 
strained their appetites and passions respecting sen- 
sible things, and present interests, from a reverence 
*>f an unseen law-giver and observer of their conduct ; 
from the fear of an invisible judge; from the hope 
that by this means heaven would be rendered pro- 
pitious to them; however obscure, imperfect, or even 
unjust their ideas, either of the divine nature, provi- 
dence, or of that future world, might be ; these per- 
sons, notwithstanding, walked by Faith. 

Faith in Christ, is a firm persuasion that what- 
ever he hath declared is true, and this is the great 
difference between the faith of Christians and the 
faith of others: — That the Faith of Christians, if it 
be founded on the word of God and correspond to 
the truth as it is in Jesus, is more extensive, purer, 
and more lively ; that it embraces a greater number 
of interesting and important truths, concerning un- 

* The cultivation of this important principle is not merely in itself 
a virtue as a proof of our trust and confidence in the promises of God, 
but becomes eventually the parent of many other virtues, by its pow- 
erful tendency to enlarge and spiritualize the human mind ; by teach- 
ins it to contemplate our present actions in their future consequences, 
and thus firmly to withstand the influence of those delusive seduc- 
tions, which, without its aid, would so often make shipwreck oi good 
conscience, of respectability, of hope, and of happiness! — Editor. 



88 On Faith in general, and 

seen, past, and future things; and that, although it 
must in some instances be attended with obscurity, 
because the objects it embraces are but in part re- 
vealed, yet that it is not in any instance debased 
witherrour; and also, that being supported by a 
much stronger evidence, it is naturally more produc- 
tive of all good fruit, and is a steadier, as well as a 
more active principle of conduct. 

Faith changes the fugitive and visionary nature of 
things unseen, whether past, present, or to come, in- 
to something more fixed and more substantial : it 
transports us back into the past, and interests us in 
the events of a thousand ages that had elapsed be- 
fore we were called into being. It gives us to be- 
hold that important moment, when the Lord spake 
and it was done ; when he commanded, and all things 
stood fast; and fills our souls with those delightful 
sentiments of wonder, reverence, and love, that 
would have seized them, had we been present when 
this glorious universe, at his command, burst into 
existence ; when the morning stars sang together, 
and the first born sons of God shouted aloud for 
joy. Faith displays before our eyes the secret go- 
vernment of God, and shows us how uncontrolable 
he is, how wise, how just, and how kind in all his 
dispensations, whether of the natural, the civil, or 
the moral world. Faith sets before us that most 
consolatory and delightful scene, the great and good 
Father of all continually superintending all his 
works, watching over e\eiy creature he has made, 
interested even for the falling sparrow, and counting 
the very hairs of the human head ! 

We see him adorning even this scene of disci- 
pline with innumerable beauties ; blessing even this 
childhood of our being with innumerable entertain- 



Religious Faith in particular. 89 

inents and delights ; dispensing to us our condition 
during the little period of our sojourning on earth, 
with all the tenderness and all the liberality that 
consists with our safe arrival in that better world 
to which we go, and with our interests in that un- 
changeable and everlasting state. We see this holy 
God, even when clouds and darkness are round 
about him, still smiling through the cloud upon his 
faithful children, lifting up the light of his counte- 
nance upon them, and preparing to reward them 
with a crown of life. Faith shows us this almighty 
Monarch, to purify the iniquity of the world, break- 
ing up the fountains of the deep, and opening the 
windows of heaven. Faith shows us this Avenger 
of unrighteousness bringing down a fiery tempest 
on the cities of the plain : Faith shovis us this Hope 
and Confidence of his people, dividing the waters of 
the sea to preserve the armies of Israel, and instant- 
ly bringing back the waters that he had divided, 
for the destruction of Pharaoh and his host. 

By Faith we see this God and Father of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, in sending Abraham from his 
country and his father's house; in changing the in- 
tended death of Joseph into servitude in Egypt; 
in visiting the fruitful country of Canaan with fa- 
mine ; in settling the house of Jacob in the land of 
Eg\pt; in multiplying his posterity in that settle- 
ment; in subjecting them to the tyranny of cruel 
and oppressive princes; in preserving Moses to be 
their deliverer ; in the plagues by him inflicted to 
obtain for them the deliverance they sought ; in the 
law that was given them at Sinai ; in the peculiar 
constitution under which they were at last settled in 
the promised land; in all the revolutions of the 
Jewish state ; in their prosperities and their afflic- 
tions - ? in their independence and their servitude ; 



90 On Faith in general, and 

in the various fates of many powerful kingdoms 
with which they were occasionally connected : — in 
all these events we see by Faith the God and 
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, rewarding the 
virtues and chastising the vices both of individuals 
and of nations ; exhibiting the most striking evi- 
dence that he ruleth in the kingdom of men ; dis- 
playing an example of his moral government ; and 
making straight the way for the gospel of his Son 
to have free course and be glorified. 

By Faith we hear the great Arbiter of events, 
who sees the end from the beginning, one while to 
reclaim the nations from their iniquities, warning 
them of the evils with which he is about to visit 
them ; and another while, to support and comfort 
his repenting people in their troubles, revealing to 
them the deliverances he is about to accomplish for 
them; and all along from period to period, through 
a long succession of ages and generations, promis- 
ing in plainer and still plainer terms, and describing 
in clearer and still clearer characters, that illus- 
trious personage who should spread the knowledge 
of God, even unto the ends of the earth; who 
should put an end to sin, bring in an everlasting 
righteousness, and erect a kingdom that should 
never cease. 

Faith introduces us into the fields of Bethlehem, 
opens our ears unto the Angels' anthem, and dis- 
plays before us all the wonderful events that accom- 
panied the birth of this prince of peace. By Faith 
we are present at the gracious words that proceed- 
ed out of his mouth ; we hear the divine discourses 
that he addressed unto the multitude, and are ad- 
mitted to that more intimate communion that he held 
with his immediate disciples. By Faith we behold 



Religious Faith in particular. 91 

the sick reviving at his touch ; the lame leaping at 
his word ; the blind gazing with astonishment at 
that powerful friend by whom they had legained 
their sight; and the dead rising from their graves 
to bless the Abolisher of death. By Faith we see 
him tried, condemned, and crucified ; dying, in the 
exercise of the divinest virtue, a malefactor's death 
upon the cross. By Faith we see him sleeping in 
the tomb, rising from the dead according to his own 
prediction, satisfying the doubts of his disciples and 
ascending in their presence, as he said he should do, 
to his Father and their Father, to his God and their 
God. 

By Faith we see the angelick guard, that attend- 
ed our ascending Lord, and hear the promise which 
they left to the disciples, ;t this same Jesus who is 
taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in 
like manner, as he was seen to go thither." Faith 
opens to us the eternal gates, draws back the 
veil that separates between earth # and heaven, 
and extends our prospect far beyond the re- 
gion of the shadow of death ; brings us into the 
city of the living God ; shows us there the blessed 
Jesus, for his obedience unto death, crowned with 
glory and honour, and seated at the right hand of 
the majesty on high. She shows us there, the in- 
numerable company of Angels, the spirits of just 
men made perfect, settled in the presence of our hea- 
venly Father; and enables us, imperfectly it is true, 
but in some degree enables us, to anticipate the 
happiness of so blessed a communion. Faith has 
the power to bring forward that future happiness to 
make glad the present hour. As Faith penetrates 
into that which is within the veil whither the fore- 
runner is for us entered, so before her eye also, 
hell is naked, and destruction has no covering. 



02 On Faith in general, and 

Through Faith we may even now enjoy that 
happy day, when by the power of the gospel, peace, 
and truth, and virtue prevailing throughout the 
world, shall spread their blessed influences from one 
end of the earth to the other. — By Faith we antici- 
pate the glorious period when the great destroyer, 
Death, himself shall be destroyed. Through Faith 
we can already feel somewhat of that ecstatick tri- 
umph that will seize us, when waking from the bed 
of death, we shall behold the face of God in right- 
eousness, and at length be satisfied with his perfect 
likeness. 

Such are the forepast scenes that Faith brings 
bark to us; such are the invisible transactions that 
Faith discovers to us; such are the great futurities 
that it places in a distinct and striking view. Does 
the Apostle say too much of faith ? is he too lavish 
in its praise ? is he too sanguine in commending it ? 
If such things, so deeply interesting to us, have 
been, and are, and are to be, things which our sen- 
ses cannot reach, who would not be thankful for 
being made capable of that principle by which they 
are revealed unto us ? who would not be thankful 
that we are not left to dark, and dubious, and vague 
conjectures concerning subjects so important as the 
origin, and government, and end of all things ? that 
we are not bewildering ourselves in wild imagina- 
tions, nor fleeting from uncertainty to uncertainty ? 

Let us then use the privileges that we praise; 
while we bless him for those clear discoveries and 
overpowering evidences that have so well defined, 
and so firmly fixed, our conceptions of invisible and 
future things, let us live as they ought to live, who 
know that they came out of the hands of God, that 
they are the subjects of his government, and are 
going hence to his tribunal. 



Religions Faith in particular. 93 



PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty, we believe that from thee 
we derived our being, with all its powers, its com- 
forts, and its hopes ; we believe that we continually 
act in thy presence, and under thy inspection, "who 
art acquainted with all our ways;" we believe that 
we are accountable unto thee for all our conduct, 
and that the day is coming, when thou shalt judge 
the world in righteousness, and when all shall receive 
according to their deeds. 

We lament before thee, heavenly Father, that 
this our most holy faith has in times past produced 
no greater influence on our affections and our con- 
versation. In time to come may it bring forth fruits 
meet unto repentance ! IVlay we be more thankful 
unto thee from whose bounty all our blessings flow, 
and more resigned unto thy will, without whom not 
an atom changes its place throughout the boundless 
universe ! In all our conduct may we behave as 
seeing thee who art invisible. May we admit no- 
thing into our hearts that we could desire to conceal 
from thy all penetrating eye; nothing into our con- 
duct of which we shall have cause to be ashamed 
at thy righteous tribunal ! 4C The life that we now 
Jive in the flesh, may it be by the faith of the son 
of God," and may we add unto our faith virtue, 
to virtue knowledge, to knowledge temperance, to 
temperance patience, to patience godliness, to god- 
liness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kind- 
ness charity, that these things being in us and 
abounding, we may not be barren or unfruitful in 
the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour, but may 
in all things adorn the sacred doctrine we protess, 



DISCOURSE II. 



FAITH A REASONABLE PRINCIPLE. 



Hebrews xi. 1. 

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of 
things unseen. 

Faith is a reasonable principle. There is nothing 
dark, mysterious, or unintelligible in it ; nothing for 
which he who values himself most upon the character 
of reason, has any cause to be ashamed. It is not 
an enthusiastick principle that first gives being to 
dreams and visions, and then supports itself upon 
imaginations of its own creating. It is not a super- 
natural impression proceeding from the immediate 
agency of God, capriciously bestowed where he 
pleases to bestow it, and denied where he wills it to 
be denied. It is not an inexplicable feeling of 
we know not what, conceived we know not how, 
and cherished we know not why : it is not the 
persuasion of any tiling, whether good or evil, 
concerning either ourselves or any other being, 
taken up without reason, and maintained upon 
principles that may not be duly specified and ex- 
plained : it is jiot any sudden irradiation of the 
mind, proceeding from whatever cause ; for Faith 
is not more the especial gift of God, than Sight ; it 
is equally the natural and necessary result of the 
principles that compose the human frame. — To 
an eye duly formed, present any object of the visi- 



Faith a reasonable principle. 95 

ble world, and it is seen : to a mind attentive and 
undepraved, propose the evidence concerning any 
truth that respects the world invisible, concerning 
either distant objects, past transactions, or events 
yet to come, and in proportion to the strength of 
that evidence, it is believed. Whatever persuasion is 
taken up against evidence or without it, is blind 
presumption, or romantick imagination, and not 
Faith. 

Faith is as much the effect of evidence, as sight is 
the effect of sensible impression ; nor is the one 
more absolutely dependent on its cause, or more 
closely connected with it, than the other. It is a 
law of our nature, that in such and such circum- 
stances, we shall see ; and it is as much a law of 
our nature, that in such and such circumstances, we 
shall believe. If we will be judging of such visible 
things as are beyond the sphere of clear and dis- 
tinct vision, no man would call these presumptuous 
fancies, however strongly we might be attached to 
them, sight ; and in like manner, if we would be 
judging of things invisible, to which the light of 
evidence does not reach, no man should call these 
visions of imagination, Faith : they are both of them 
the reveries of a capricious or disordered mind ; a 
partial frenzy, which only requires to be extended 
to a greater multitude of objects, to render the 
perversion of our understandings both manifest 
and deplorable. — What sight is in the natural world, 
with respect to things visible and present, Faith is 
in the spiritual world, with respect to things absent 
and invisible : to believe, on sufficient evidence, is 
as natural as to perceive ; and in thus believing, 
there is nothing more unreasonable, inexplicable, 
or indefensible, than in seeing with our open 
eyes the prospect that presents itself before us. 



90 Faith </ reasonable principle. 

Faith then is a principle no more peculiar to 
religion in general, than it is peculiar to the Christian 
religion in particular. Even those, who most alTect 
to treat it with ridicule and contempt in the disciples 
of Christ, are themselves obliged, and they are 
satisfied with the obligation, to act upon it every 
day and vwcvy hour of their lives : it is the very 
principle which, in the ordinary affairs of life, 
regulates and governs hy far the greater part of 
their thoughts, their affections, and their conduct. 

Do they really know every thing that they think 
they know, in their domestic k, their Commercial) 
or their civil concerns and occupations? Let them 
examine those; things of which they have the 
firmest persuasion, as they think the most infallible 
certainty, and they will find very few of them that 
are objects of sense or consciousness : they are not 
known, they are only believed. 

Do they know, that the food to which they are 
sat down is sale and salutary ? or do they refuse 
to partake; of what they have not with their own 
hands prepaied, for fear of disgracing the character 
of reason ? — Do they know that the medicine admin- 
istered to them in sickness, is composed of useful 
or innocent ingredients ? do they know that these 
are faithfully prepared, and judiciously combined ? 
or, for fear of doing an unreasonable thing, for fear 
of exposing themselves to ridicule or censure, do 
they refuse to take it till they have carefully exa- 
mined the; composition, and have themselves been 
witness of the effects, in experiments on othors ? 

They sit down at night, planning schemes of 
business or of pleasure for the morrow ; laying 
themselves, it may be, under obligations and engage* 



faith a reasonable principle. 9< 

tncnts for a long time to come : Do they see the sun 
hastening to bring back the returning day ? do thej 
know thai the scythe of death is jet far distant 
from them ? are they certain what a day may bring 
forth ? can they see through the darkness of the 
night, what shall be on the morrow ? — Does any 
iniii deny obedience to the civil powers because 
he has never seen them ? Does the tradesman act 
unreasonably in preparing his merchandise before 
he sees the buyer coming ? Is it any mark of weak- 
ness or of fully in him, that he buys, with no better 
security that he shall sell again, than what he may 
know in general respecting the wauls, the disposi- 
tions, and the customs of mankind ? Is it any thing 
ridiculous for the merchant to send orders to distant 
countries, for commodities which he has been only 
told, by those who have only heard, and who perhaps 
are themselves interested in making the declaration, 
that such commodities are produced there ? Must 
he go himself to the ends of the earth, before ho 
can with any degree of reason transmit his merchan- 
dise; into these countries, because he has jio other 
persuasion but what testimony has created in him, 
that there; are agents there, who may be trusted to 
transact his business, and inhabitants to consume, 
or use what he may send ihithei ? Must the hus- 
bandman try his seed, before he can be justified in 
sowing it, and lose a season in experiments upon its 
fruitfulness, before he can reasonably venture on the 
expectation oi' a harvest from it ? 

In all these, and in a thousand other instances, 
Faith is the principle upon which men resolve 
and act; then; is no other principle that has so 
constant and extensive an influence upon them. 
You cannot even go to a place where you have 
never been, but it is by Faith you go thither. You 



98 Faith a reasonable principle. 

cannot seek a person you have never seen, but it 
is by Faith you seek him : the most trivial and 
most important actions of our Jives are almost all 
equally dependent on it. 

Even our moral conduct, in the most serious 
and the most momentous instances, rests on Faith 
as its foundation. For if Faith be an unreasonable 
principle of action, if it be not a sufficient ground 
to go upon, then it is most undoubtedly an unrea- 
sonable and unjustifiable thing, for any man to 
entertain the sentiments of filial affection, or fraternal 
love. If we disgrace our nature, when we act 
upon the principle of faith and yield to the evidence 
of testimony, then is it a disgrace to nature, for any 
man to honour and obey another, as his parent ; we 
do ourselves injustice when we own ourselves to be 
their children who call us such, and we are guilty, if 
not of a crime, yet at least of an absurdity, when 
we cultivate a peculiar tenderness towards any who 
were born before us, under the idea that it is a 
sister or a brother for whom we cultivate this re- 
spect, and lo whom, on account of this connexion, it 
is due from us. 

Sense and experience is confined within very 
narrow limits. The objects to which our know- 
ledge can extend are very few ; when the sphere 
of our affection and activity go beyond these, it is 
Faith, not knowledge, that carries out our views, 
our passions, and pursuits ; it is Faith that directs, 
supports, and animates them. He who should 
resolve that his practice should go no farther than 
his knowledge, that he would believe nothing ; that 
he would suffer no desires to rise in his heart, and 
no actions to proceed from him, but upon the con- 
viction of his own experience, would in effect resolve 



Faith a reasonable principle, 99 

to lead a life so extremely ridiculous and uncomfort- 
able, that it ought to be reckoned among its best 
circumstances, that if he kept his resolution, his life 
would in all probability be very short. 

Almost all the affairs of life are transacted upon 
the evidence of testimony and under the influence 
of Faith ; and yet mankind, in all the reproaches 
they have thrown one upon another, never thought 
that upon this account they could upbraid, or be 
upbraided. Even the most licentious ridiculer of 
this principle, never dreamed that he was charge- 
able with weakness and absurdity for the influence 
that he allowed it to have over him, and would 
have joined as heartily in exposing him who to- 
tally disowned it in the affairs of this world, as him 
who abounded in it, in respect to the concerns of 
another. 

It is in matters of religion only that Faith is so 
weak, ridiculous, and absurd ; for there, instead 
of gratifying our irregular inclinations, it reproves 
them ; it calls away the attention of mankind from 
this present world ; it would moderate their attach- 
ment to it, and their expectation from it, and would 
engage them in the pursuit of the invisible and 
future things of another world ; things in themselves 
indeed more important, but not so well suited to 
the taste of the ambitious, the sensual, or the car- 
nal mind. But does the dislike of them destroy 
their reality ? Does it annihilate the evidence of 
these things ? Is it the less certain that they are, 
or that they will be, because the men of this world 
are less willing to believe them ? Does the reason- 
ableness of Faith diminish, as the importance of its 
objects rises ? Is it reasonable to act upon it in 
respect of this present life, and not in respect of 




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■p itmiMii' 2*1 fatove «wy Jfawil 

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re -^: 



Am rtmummmkh primciph. 

n this instance to be satisfied 




- -. :/- r : r : z . "■ z : 

to apprehend that we may 
or deceived. A very light 
it to keep as upon oar guard 
I evil. I ected. and rea- 

sonably expected, that it should do so. And on the 
other hand, it is mnversally acknowledged, that for 
a vast advantage, oar cares and labours should be 
hazarded on a small assurance. The most circum- 
spect and severest reason wifl readily allow, that if 
there be indeed mmy evidence of a future everlasting 
world, which shall succeed the present short and 
transitory scene, where all shall receive according to 
their works, whatever were the means and condi- 
tions of avoiding the evils and obtaining the blessings 
of sudi a state, the infinite importance of the ob 
would in fact, to a mmd well constituted and ticde- 
praved, and upon every mmd ought in all reason to 
make up what might be wanting in the evidence to 
complete the certainty of the evidence of such a 
state, and to gfre it all its ionuence upon our hearts 
and conduct. This effect it ought to produce, what- 
ever might be the terms of inheriting tins expec 
happiness ; but if these terms are nothing more than 
rict avoidance of the i which prudence 

would forbtd even in consideration of the present 
world, what shall we say of the wisdom of those 
who aflect to despise, or neglect zod to 

them? 

7 ~ z - z : : :. - :iz : -\ '. \ \ z : -'.- \\\\ \ z r -. ■<-. \ . ^ r. - . :'- 
ficaent to illustrate, as well as to evince the proposi- 
tion laid down, that Faith is a reasonable principle. 
these I would subjoin the following remark?. 
which are clearly dednctble from the subject 



Faith a reasonable principle. 

I. Sine* Faith is a reasonable principle, we have 
no cause to be ashamed of it. Does anv man make 
it the subject of ridicule re will be no difficulty 

in convincing others at least, if not himself, that he 
is more ridiculous than the Christian believer : for 
while he fancies that he walks by Bight, he is reallv 
governed bv a Faith that much gi 

credulity. 

"- [f Faith in general be a reasonable principle, 
how much more reasonable is the Christian's faith ? 
He derives his belief of invisible and future things 
from authority the most unquestionable ; warran: 
not only by all the evidence that suppor: ith 

of other men, but moreover bj i o- 

phecv and miracle. H.r ::. :h requires no 

more than theirs, no more than reason 
in. and it produces much better authority for the de- 
mands it makes. 

3. It mav not be improper to observe, that ;. 
ever natural and e distinction between faith 
and reason, yet it ou^ht not to be made without 
some caution and restriction. A ^reat part ot 
what we ordinarily call reason, is indeed faith ; and 

tfa is itself an act of reason. To believe upon suffi- 
cient testimony, is one among many other charac 
teristicks of reason and nteUigenc 

4. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we should 
take care that we call nothing ur. ole by that 
name, lest ue bring a : i upon a principle 
that is so natural, and m - ..!. and so impor: 

to the happiness mau. A> :,ot evi- 
dence lo justify it, is soaaptioo, it 
mav be called bv anv not Faith. 
Let us sift our opinions concert.-: ^le, 
ether p. 



104 Faith a reasonable principle. 

so far separate the chaff from the wheat, as to give 
the name of Faith, to nothing that has not the sup- 
port of argument. 

5. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we need not 
be suspicious of any means that are proposed to 
confirm us in it : can we be too well established in 
what is just and right ? And lastly, 

6. If Faith be a reasonable principle, we need 
not be afraid of pursuing it through all its conse- 
quences. Nothing but what is right can come of 
what is reasonable ; it must be diverted from its 
natural course, or corrupted by some foreign inter- 
mixture, before it can dictate or induce to what is 
wrong. If our Faith be the pure result of evidence, 
it will give us comfort, and do us honour, to show it 
in our works. 



PRAYER. 

Holy, holy, holy Lord God Almighty, who art, 

and wast, and art to come. Glory and honour and 

thanks be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and 

who liveth for ever and ever ! Thou art worthy, O 

Lord, to receive glory and honour and power, for 

thou hast created all things, and of thy good pleasure 

they are and were created. The invisible things of 

God from the creation of the world are clearly seen, 

being understood by the things that are made, even 

the Maker's eternal power and godhead, so that 

they are without excuse, who having such discoveries 

of God, and such evidences that he is the former of 

their bodies, and the father of their spirits, and the 

author of their enjoyments, glorify him not as God, 

and are not thankful. May our faith be that holy 



Faith a reasonable princijrte. 105 

active principle that purifies the heart, that works 
by love, and overcomes the present world. May 
the word of Christ dwell richly in us with all wis- 
dom ; may we be led to a more perfect acquaintance 
with the truth as it is in Jesus, and by that truth 
may we be sanctified. As we draw nearer unto 
heaven, may we become more heavenly-minded, 
more assimilated to those pure and holy spirits that 
reside there, and more meet to partake with them 
in their employments and their happiness. While 
we are in the world in well doing, and in the exercise 
of a firm and lively faith, we would humbly com- 
mend the keeping of our souls and the disposal of 
all our affairs unto thee. 

May we not be governed by things seen and tem- 
poral, but by a just regard to those that are unseen 
and everlasting ; and may that Faith which is the 
substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of 
things not seen, preserve us that we yield not to 
the temptations to which we are exposed, and ani- 
mate us so resolutely to resist the world, when the 
things of the world would either deter or allure us 
from our duty, that finally we may come oft* more 
than conquerors through him who loved us. 



DISCOURSE III. 

FAITH A DESIRABLE AND IMPORTANT 
PRINCIPLE. 



Hebrews xi. 1. 

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things 

unseen. 

Faith is that principle through which we appre- 
hend the existence of invisible things, whether past, 
present, or future, or which stands instead of the 
perception of such things, as in our present circum- 
stances, or with our present powers, cannot be 
perceived. It is therefore a most desirable and 
important principle, because it is suited to the wants 
and imperfections of the human mind. 

If the human mind were not so constituted, as 
to rely upon testimony when it is not attended with 
suspicious circumstances, that is, to be capable of 
Faith, the experience of former ages would have 
been of small advantage to their successors. In 
many instances we should have been deprived of 
those improvements which we now assume as the 
foundation of our own ; and the generations of 
mankind, which are now from age to age extend- 
ing their improvements, would, like the succes- 
sive generations of the inferiour creatures, have 
borne a great resemblance to each other. Each 
generation would have had just such a portion of 



Faith a desirable and important principle. 107 

knowledge respecting the world in which they liv- 
ed, of the nature they possest, and of the laws by 
which both were respectively governed, as might 
result from their own observation, and very little 
more. Besides, the curiosity of the human mind 
concerning things to come, is so great and power- 
ful, that it has in all ages and in all countries en- 
gaged the weak and credulous, and sometimes, 
even those who were in reputation for wisdom and 
honour, in the most absurd practices, in order to 
arrive at some knowledge of them. Is it not then 
desirable, is it not important to the peace and com- 
fort of mankind, that all vain imaginations, and 
groundless conjectures, and perplexing doubts con- 
cerning future things should be banished from their 
mind, by receiving and entertaining the just impres- 
sions to be derived from credible information con- 
cerning such of them as it is most important for us 
to be acquainted with ? accompanied with an assu- 
rance, upon the same authority, that no other futu- 
rities can by any means whatever be discovered by 
us ? 

It is nothing improbable that there may be a vast 
variety of events to come, in which we have the 
greatest interest ; and the very possibility that it may 
be so, renders it a desirable circumstance that we 
should be well instructed and rationally persuaded 
concerning what we are to expect. We are to die, 
and rise again, and be judged. The certainty of 
these events depends not at all upon our persuasion 
concerning them : though we had wrought ourselves 
into the most confident assurance that these things 
should never come to pass, the decree of the Al- 
mighty would not thereby be altered. No man can 
doubt that, being mortal, it is important for him to 
believe that he shall die : can it then be less impor- 



108 Faith a desirable 

tant, is it less momentous, that the moral subjects of 
God's kingdom should believe that they are account- 
able to him for all their conduct? Is it desirable 
that the faithful Christian should have no knowledge 
of the glories and felicities to which he is hereafter 
to be promoted? That he should carefully defend 
himself against all hope from a world to come, 
and should treat the most credible testimony con- 
cerning it as the dreams and fictions of a seducing 
imagination? Is it desirable that the sinner should 
have no suspicion of the dreadful sentence that is to 
be pronounced upon him ; that he should carelessly 
overlook, or industriously shun, or obstinately re- 
sist, whatever might lead him to such an expecta- 
tion ? that he should treat it as a vain alarm, the 
suggestion of groundless terrour, the creature of a 
timid and disordered fancy ? If this is not desir- 
able, then is Faith a most salutary and important 
principle. Again, 

Faith is a desirable and important principle, as it 
introduces us to a fund of the most delightful enter- 
tainment. 

Every thing is desirable that is a source of true 
pleasure ; every thing is important that contributes 
to the best enjoyment even of this present Iif2. — 
When we best enjoy the circumstances in which 
God hath placed us, our views of life are most com- 
fortable to ourselves, and most honourable to its 
Author; our sense of obligation to him is more live- 
ly, and our obedience to his laws more cheerful. 
Then too, when we best enjoy our own circumstan- 
ces, we shall be best enjoyed by those about us; 
and our services will be most freely and most effec- 
tually extended towards them also. It is not there- 
fore unimportant to consult, in any instance, the 



and important principle. 109 

comfort of our present being; it is desirable, not 
only for itself, but also for its effects and consequen- 
ces : if therefore Faith had nothing else to recom- 
mend it, but, that being in itself reasonable, it ad- 
ministers to our entertainment and delight, it must 
be owned to be a desirable and important principle. 

Setting aside every other consideration but that 
of pleasure, of agreeable and comfortable contem- 
plation to employ the leisure and to soothe the cares 
of life, would it be desirable to change conditions, if 
we could do it, with him who knows nothing of an 
unseen world, nothing of the great scheme of Pro- 
vidence, nothing of the primeval history, and no- 
thing of the future fates of men ? Would we wish 
that our pleasures should, like his, be contracted 
within what eye can see, ear can hear, and hand 
can reach ? — Would we choose that all the sweet, 
the awful, the magnificent, and interesting scenes 
that Faith reveals to us, should for ever be blotted 
out from the thoughts and imaginations of our 
hearts ? Were it desirable that our souls should 
never more be suspended in astonishment, or elevat- 
ed into joy, or melted into tenderness by the great 
and important objects that Faith presents to our 
view? Whose is, or rather perhaps the question 
ought to be, whose might be, the happier life ; ours, 
to whom these things are discovered by the light of 
Faith, if knowing them we attend to them and feel 
their due influence, or his, to whom nothing is re- 
vealed but the immediate objects of his sense, — from 
whom all the future scenes of the divine govern- 
ment, and every object of the world invisible, are 
concealed in clouds and darkness ? 

4 



110 Faith a desirable 

Is it pleasant to have the mind extended to the ut- 
most stretch of its capacities, raised into important 
expectation, or suspended in astonishment and reve- 
rence ? It is : and what is there more capable 
of exciting these sentiments of wonder and delight 
than the contemplation of an universe rising into 
being at the word of God, taking all its infinite 
vicissitudes and changes from his command; by him 
conducted through innumerable revolutions, during 
an immense series of countless ages and genera- 
tions ? What is there more capable of exciting 
these pleasing sentiments, than to compare together 
the primeval state, the present condition, and the 
possible catastrophe of this world ? to contemplate 
that important day when God spake and it was done, 
through all its various consequences, to that solemn 
moment when he shall speak again, and the hea- 
vens shall melt away, and the earth and all that is 
therein shall be burnt up, and new heavens and a 
new earth shall arise from that prolifick flame ? 

Is there no more entertainment to an intelligent 
spectator, no more consolation to a heart of sensibi- 
lity in beholding the universe as an eternal monu- 
ment of the greatness and the goodness of its Ma- 
ker, than in contemplating it merely as a great 
and vast object, ignorant of its origin and depen- 
dence ? than in wandering in the doubtful maze of a 
vain imagination, fluctuating from uncertainty to un- 
certainty concerning it? Is it more comfortable, is 
it more delightful, to look upon the universe as a ves- 
sel without a governour, driven we know not whi- 
ther, by we know not what, subject in all its parts 
to perpetual accidents and unexpected revolutions, 
which its wisest and most powerful inhabitants can 
neither control nor regulate ; than to consider it as 
being under the direction of an able and skilful 



and important principle. Ill 

pilot, whose counsels, though we cannot in every 
instance fathom them, are nevertheless, in every in- 
stance, wise and kind ? — of a govcrnour, who guides 
and governs all events, and causes all the various 
vicissitudes and revolutions we behold, to work to- 
gether for the highest and most lasting good ? 
Which is the most comfortable thought, whether 
we regard ourselves or others ? which is the most 
delightful and elevating contemplation ? 

In the past transactions of divine providence, how 
interesting and delightful is it to contemplate the il- 
lustration of this great and momentous truth, the uni- 
versal providence and government of God, whether 
as it respects families, individuals, or nations? Shall 
I adduce as an example, that cruel combination, 
when the sons of Jacob saw, but did not feel, the 
anguish of a brother's soul, and heard, but repent- 
ed not, when a brother sued to them for mercy ? 
Need I tell you what the father felt, and thought, 
and said, or describe to you the sentiments with 
which the son looked back unto his father's house, 
and forward to a long captivity ? Do you need to 
have the sequel of this story told you ? That un- 
righteous imprisonment, that unexpected exaltation, 
that tender interview, that astonishing discovery, or 
those pleasing, approvable and salutary emotions 
they excited ? Do you require to be informed, that 
the hand of God was in all this ? Or, while you see 
his secret providence overruling the jealousies and 
vices, as well as the sufferings of some, in such man- 
ner as to issue in the benefit of all ; accomplishing 
their settlement in that very country, where, in con- 
sequence of the progress that art and knowledge 
had previously made there, they might be instruct- 
ed and improved; a country of general resort; and 



112 Faith a desirable 

on that account, as well as on many others, the most 
proper theatre for the display of that mighty hand, 
and outstretched arm, hy which the sovereignty of 
the God of Israel should be demonstrated ; while 
you see the secret providence of God in that very 
event, of which Jacob said, that it would bring down 
his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, providing 
at once for the preservation of that family, for the 
peace and policy of a great empire, for the most 
publick and effectual rebuke of idolatry and super- 
stition, and for the most proper circumstances of 
erecting Israel into a peculiar people, who should 
preserve and spread the knowledge of the true God ; 
while you see the hand of God in this event, at the 
time when it came to pass, apparently an accidental 
thing, a mere domestick occurrence, pursuing such 
various ends, promoting such important purposes, 
and bestowing such great and extensive benefits, 
does it give no pleasure to your hearts ? Does it 
awaken there no pious admiration, no sweet compo- 
sure in the character, no sacred triumph in the go- 
vernment of God ?— so excellent in counsel, so won- 
derful in working; in all his ways as gracious as he 
is great, abundant in mercy, and glorious in holi- 
ness, even when clouds and darkness intercept from 
us the irradiations of that glory !— Does it excite in 
you no sentiments of joyful sympathy and congratu- 
lation towards the subjects of so wise, and power- 
ful, and beneficent a King ? Does it not encourage 
you to trust in God ? Does it create in you nothing 
of that delightful tranquillity, that results from the 
conviction, that you and your affairs are in his hands, 
and from the devout resignation of all your interests 
to him ? 

In all these transactions how different were the 
views of Jacob and his children from the views of 






and important principle. 113 

God ? Their judgments and sentiments respecting 
them, were formed only by the things that were 
seen and present with them : how different an 
aspect do they now assume to us, who see their im- 
portance as a part of the great plan of providence ; 
whose views, in reflecting on them, approach so 
much nearer to the views of divine providence in 
conducting these events, and who see so much more, 
than they could discover, of the great ends and ob- 
jects which they were intended and calculated to 
produce ? — How pleasant is it, by the light of Faith, 
to compare these different views together, to pursue 
the contemplations which that comparison suggests, 
and to cultivate and indulge the affections they call 
forth ? 

When we carry forward our thoughts unto futu- 
rity, we are compelled to believe, that there is a 
day, not very distant, which shall be marked by 
our funerals, when our bodies shall be sealed up in 
the grave. Should we anticipate that day with 
greater pleasure, if we believed that the pains and 
weaknesses which usually lead thither, would be 
our last sensations ? If we believed, that when once 
the dust to which we were going had received us, 
we should know and be known no more for ever ? 
Could we think with greater pleasure of retiring 
out of this world, if we were ignorant, if we were 
dubious, whether there were any other scene of be- 
ing to succeed it ? Would the vale of death exhibit 
to us a more pleasing prospect, if it did not open in- 
to another and a more important world ? Could we 
go with greater satisfaction to lay our pious parents, 
our worthy friends, or our virtuous children in the 
grave, if we thought that we had then bid adieu to 
them for ever ? Could we stand with so much sere- 
nity by the death-bed of the just, if we dared not to 



114 Faith a desirable 

encourage our imaginations in following them into 
nobler life, and to a better world, where ten thou- 
sand times ten thousand happy spirits are rejoicing 
in the friendship of their Maker, and whose number 
it may be is every moment receiving new accessions? 
if we knew nothing of the new Jerusalem, of God, 
of Christ, and the innumerable company of angels, 
to which all just men, when they have left this flesh- 
ly tabernacle, shall be for ever united ? 

No, my friends : — it is Faith to which we owe the 
most cordial consolations, under the heaviest pres- 
sures of mortality : it is Faith to which we are in- 
debted for our sublimest pleasures ; for it is Faith 
that discovers to us our virtuous predecessors exalt- 
ed into all the happiness we could desire for them. 
It is Faith that teaches us to look upon this life, no- 
ble as is the rank we hold in the present world, and 
great as are the blessings we enjoy in it, as nothing 
more than the seed-time of human being, the school 
of our education, the childhood of our existence; 
and it is Faith that enables us to antedate the hap- 
piness of that better state, where our labours shall 
be recompensed by the noblest harvest, and our 
nature shall arrive at it& full maturity and perfec- 
tion. 

Are these the pleasures and the consolations that 
arise from Faith ? Is it not then a most desirable 
and important principle ? Regarding only the com- 
forts and enjoyments of this present state, what 
other source of consolation or of pleasure can you 
find that deserves to be brought into comparison 
with it ? — The eternity to come ! what an interest- 
ing discovery ! how sweet ! how consolatory ! how 
full of heartfelt satisfaction ! — To find ourselves 
with all the virtuous friends we have ever loved on 



and important principle. 115 



earth, with all the faithful servants of God who 
have gone before us, redeemed from the power of 
sin and death, refined from every imperfection, ex- 
alted above every evil, and for ever settled in the 
presence of God ! how transporting the expecta- 
tion ! 



Take care, Christian, that thy faith be something 
more than a principle of pleasure ; let it so influence 
the whole of thy conduct, that finally thou mayest 
obtain an abundant entrance into that better world, 
where, though Love shall for ever live, yet Faith 
and Hope, having answered the important purposes 
for which they were given, shall give place to cer- 
tainty and happiness. 



PRAYER. 

Worthy art thou, O Lord God Almighty, to re- 
ceive the profoundest adorations, and the most per- 
fect services of all thine intelligent creation ! — 
From thy good pleasure all things derive their be- 
ing ; by thy wisdom they were originally disposed 
in that harmonious order in which we now behold 
them ; and it is by thy decree that they retain it. 
Thy providence it is that ordereth all events, and 
we have the most comfortable assurance, that all 
things shall work together for good to those who 
love thee and obey thee. 

We bless thy name, that by endowing us with 
the principles of reason and of faith, thou hast made 
us capable of knowing whence all our comforts flow. 
We adore thee as the fountain of life and blessed- 
ness, we thank thee for all the happiness we see 
around us, and for the large share that we ourselves 



116 Faith a desirable and important principle. 

have had in the general felicity. But above all we 
praise and magnify thy name for the glorious pros- 
pects and transporting expectations which Faith 
opens to our view. As children of the light and of 
the day, may our conversation be in Heaven ; may 
our character and conduct be always such as be- 
comes the citizens of the New Jerusalem, and mem- 
bers of that glorious community that is composed of 
the innumerable company of Angels, and all the 
spirits of the just made perfect, and Jesus the Medi- 
ator of the New Covenant, and God the Judge of 
all ! As we wish, when the days of the years of our 
pilgrimage are over, to be received to dwell with 
them where they are, may we steadily adhere to 
those principles of piety, and purity, and charity, 
which constitute their happiness and glory ; and 
may the hope of this blessed union, support, and 
comfort, and rejoice our spirits under all the labours 
and trials of this present state. 



DISCOURSE IV. 



THE UNREASONABLENESS AND FOLLY OF 
UNDUE ANXIETY. 



Philippians iv. 6. 
Be careful for nothing. 

We are made with a capacity of extending our 
thoughts into futurity. i\imost all our occupations 
have some respect to what is yet to come, and 
every hour has some influence upon all the hours 
that come after it. We know this by experience ; 
and such is our propensity to look beyond the 
present, that it is impossible we should not frequent- 
ly be figuring to ourselves, what it may be leading 
on. Hence, as, on the one hand, we are apt to flat- 
ter ourselves with vain and groundless hopes, which 
in the end must frequently betray us into the bitter- 
est disappointments ; so on the other hand, in other 
circumstances, we are apt to afflict ourselves with 
cares and anxieties no less vain and groundless, by 
the anticipation of distresses, with which the provi- 
dence of God perhaps did not mean to exercise us ; 
or, if he did, never meant that they should torment 
us before their time. It is against such anxieties 
and cares, that the apostle would guard us in the 
text; not against the exercise, but against the abuse 
and misapplication of that capacity which God has 
implanted in us, of apprehending the future conse- 
quences of present things ; against the abuse of 

5 



118 The Unreasonableness and Folly 

that propensity to which he has determined us, to 
descry them, if it can be, from afar. 

That we should be able to apprehend what will 
be the consequences of our conduct, and that we 
should pay a serious regard to them, is necessary 
to the faithful discharge of our duty: if we neglect 
to consider these things, we shall be betrayed into 
perpetual offences against virtue, as well as against 
prudence ; against God, and against our own souls. 
Hope and fear are both of them natural passions, 
implanted in our frame by that Almighty hand by 
which we are so fearfully and wonderfully made ; 
they cannot, and if they could, they ought not, to 
be rooted out. But the objects of hope and fear are 
future things ; each of them a species of care about 
futurities ; and while these cares are restrained 
within proper bounds, we are neither required nor 
permitted to cast them off. These passions were 
designed, the one to beguile our labours, to ani- 
mate our preseverance, and to sweeten the work of 
life ; the other, to put us upon our guard against 
approaching evils, to lead us to such measures, as, 
according to the views of human prudence, in hum- 
ble dependence upon the blessing and the provi- 
dence of God, may be most effectual for our 
!>reservation or deliverance. While our cares about 
uturity are directed solely to this end, far from 
being guilty, they are innocent ; they are more than 
innocent, they are virtuous. Such cares about fu- 
turity, religion means not to censure or discour- 
age : she approves of, she commends all attentions 
to the futurities of life that may have any in- 
fluence to promote our future virtue, or our future 
comfort, — if they interfere not with the grateful 
sense, and the just acknowledgment of the mercies 
that attend us in the present hour, and withdraw us 



of undue Anxiety. 119 

not from the duties which in that season are in- 
cumbent on us, — nor disqualify us for the proper 
improvement of the talents which at that time are 
passing through our hands. They are the cares 
that stretch themselves out into futurity, to fetch 
multiplied and imaginary evils thence to increase 
and aggravate the distresses that are present ; the 
cares that antedate approaching evils, and add them 
to the sorrows of the passing day; the cares that, 
in anticipating afflictions which probably are at 
hand, overlook the mercies with which a gracious 
providence will intermingle them ; the cares that 
look upon afflictions only on the gloomy side ; which 
love to sit brooding over a melancholy and dis- 
tressing scene ; which forget, that the counsels of 
God, though unsearchable, are not unkind ; and 
that though clouds and darkness are round about 
him, judgment and mercy are the supporters of his 
throne : — Cares, that tend to hard thoughts of God 
and Providence, that cool our admiration of the 
divine perfections, and damp our love of God ; cares, 
that tempt us, if we durst, to wish that our affairs 
were in our own disposal, and that would urge us, 
if we could, to reverse the decrees of Heaven ; 
cares, that generate impatience and ingratitude, 
that induce a gloomy and complaining spirit; that 
render us inattentive to our obligations, or disquali- 
fy us to discharge them in the most acceptable 
manner : — Cares, which are inconsistent with a live- 
ly faith in the providence of God, or a sincere con- 
cern to recommend ourselves to his blessing, which 
are as anxious, as if he cared not for us, as irre- 
ligious and indevout, as if all our interests depended 
on ourselves ; cares about this mortal body and 
this present world, which exclude the more im- 
portant cares that relate to the prosperity of the soul 
and the interests of eternity. These are the cares 



120 The Unreasonableness and Folly 

that religion frowns upon, that the Apostle has for- 
bidden, and which our own consciences, the mo- 
ment we reflect upon them, must condemn. " Be 
careful for nothing," says the Apostle, " but in 
every thing by prayer and supplication with thanks- 
giving, let your requests be made known unto 
God." 

It is obvious, on the most inattentive considera- 
tion, that the cares which are here forbidden, are 
such as do not vent themselves in acts of prayer 
and supplication; such as do not lead us unto God 
with a becoming sense of our dependence on him, 
and with humble hope in his mercy. They are 
such cares as throw the mind into tumultuous agi- 
tation, and impatient restlessness : for immediately 
after our text, the Apostle adds, " take the advice I 
here offer you," and •' the peace of God* which 
passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts 
and minds, through Christ Jesus." Such cares, it 
is evident, ought by all means to be discouraged 
and repressed ; and if we have any regard either to 
our duty or our interest, we shall keep our hearts 
with all diligence, that they obtain no admission 
there : For, 

In the first place, they can do no good ; the 
course of providence will proceed, be we willing or 
unwilling; acquiescent or reluctant, we must bear 
the will of God. Afraid, or not afraid, the evils 
that are appointed us, will come upon us : solici- 
tous, or not solicitous to escape it, whatever gall 
the hand of God has mingled in our cup, must be 
drank by us, even to the last drop. Do you see 
any pressing evil drawing near you? apply all the 
means that prudence recommends, and duty will 
permit, to repel, or to escape it; apply them in 



of undue Anxiety. 121 

dependence upon God's pleasure and concurrence, 
frura whom all means and instruments derive their 
power, efficacy, and success; and who will not fail 
to grant you the deliverance which thus you seek, 
if that deliverance be good for you. And when 
you have done this, what more is there that you 
would do? what more is there that you can do? 
All your anxieties and cares cannot change the 
councils of God ; all your reluctance and opposition 
can make no alteration in his purposes; and if they 
could be changed, it is not your disobedience 
that is likely to make any change in them for the 
better. 

In the second place, the cares of which we speak, 
as they can do no good, so they must do much 
harm. They will hurt ourselves. By this means 
we run to meet the afflictions that await us, and so 
are in distress longer than God meant we should 
be. By this means we create to ourselves troubles 
which Divine Providence had not appointed for us, 
and are miserable in the anticipation of things that 
shall never be. By this means we injure the health 
of our bodies, and impair the fortitude of our minds; 
we prepare ourselves to be utterly overwhelmed 
by the calamities which we cannot avoid ; we in- 
capacitate ourselves for the duties of those circum- 
stances into which God is leading us, and the just 
improvement of the talents he is about to put into 
our hands ; and at the same time, set ourselves out 
of the reach of those comforts with which he 
meant to cheer and uphold us, when the visita- 
tions that we dread shall come. — But this is not 
all. It is the testimony of universal experience, 
in respect to all calamities in general, that they 
are ordinarily more terrible in prospect than in 
presence; more insupportable in the apprehen- 



122 The Unreasonableness and Folly 

sions of imagination, than we find them when in 
reality we feel their pressure; by our cares and 
anxieties therefore about ills to come, we suffer, 
not only longer continuance of affliction, but a 
more dreadful evil than Providence had prepared 
for us. 

Christian, what aileth thee ? Adversity has made 
a visit to thy tabernacle; affliction has cast her 
clouds upon thy dwelling; and sitting there, thou 
art often ruminating what will be the end of these 
things. Christian, take care that no undutiful 
anxieties arise ; that nothing inconsistent with thy 
faith and hope find admission into thy heart. Is 
not the evil of the day, sufficient to the day ? Is it 
needful to bring other accessory evils, which might 
perhaps have never come ? The visitations of God 
shall not overpower thee; take heed that thy own 
imprudence do not.— -But thou art saying, perhaps, 
" How can I bear the loss of this comfort ? how 
can I bear the destruction of that hope ?" Who told 
thee that that comfort should be lost ? who told 
thee that that hope should be destroyed ? — Thy 
comforts may be threatened, and yet not cut down ; 
thy hopes may be blighted for a season, and yet 
not destroyed ; the delights of thine eyes may be 
sick, and yet that sickness may not be unto death ; 
the desires of thine heart may all be brought to the 
borders of the grave, and yet all may be remanded 
thence. Secret things belong unto the Lord, who 
knoweth what mercies are in store for thee : but if 
it should be as thy fears suggest, yet let not thy 
virtue die before thy blessings. It will be some 
consolation in such trials if they come, that thou 
knowest thou hast all the security that thy sin- 
cerest consecration of them unto God, and thy 
steadiest resolution to improve and to form them to 



of undue Anxiety, 123 

his glory, can procure thee. Thou hast not made 
shipwreck of Faith and a good conscience ; assure 
thyself, that according to thy afflictions shall thy 
consolations be ; all things shall work together for 
good to those who love God, and as thy day is, so 
shall be thy strength. 

But even this is not all ; anxieties and cares not 
only antedate and aggravate affliction, they will 
hurt our consciences when we come to look back 
upon them, and in the mean time they w r ill displease 
our Maker, and bring down upon us, it may be, the 
very evils that create our cares, from which had 
our hearts been more resigned, and our temper less 
impatient, the arm of God in due time might have 
delivered us. His mercies, it is probable, are dis- 
pensed according to our meetness to receive them : 
this indeed, in the present state of discipline, is not 
the only rule, but most certainly it does enter into 
those considerations on which the counsels of the 
divine mind are formed, and ought therefore to be 
remembered by us in all the prayers that we ad- 
dress unto him, and in all the expectations that we 
build upon his mercy. — Consider these things, Chris- 
tian ; in every hour of sorrow think on them, re- 
press thy cares, and let thy soul return unto its rest. 

Let us remember, moreover, that these anxie- 
ties and solicitudes set a bad example. It cannot 
well happen but that in our afflictions, others too 
must be afflicted, and our dejections will deject 
them; our diffidence and anxiety may communicate 
its contagion to their hearts, and we may in some 
measure have their guilt to answer for, as well as 
our own. They will hurt our religion too; they 
will disgrace our Christian profession. Unbelievers 
may triumph in our weakness as an argument of 



124 The Unreasonableness and Folly 

the impotence of our religion — what is a Christian 
more than other men, or what in his Faith more ex- 
cellent or more useful, than our infidelity ? 

So vain are the cares that religion requires us to 
cast off, so mischievous the anxieties she condemns ; 
they take away from us our comforts while yet we 
might enjoy them; they hurry us into distresses 
while yet we might decline them ; they protract the 
continuance of our afflictions; they multiply the 
number of our sorrows, and they aggravate the 
degree of our sufferings; they make the present 
wretched for no other reason, but because it is 
possible the future may be so; they hurt both our 
bodies and our souls ; they injure our friends as 
well as ourselves ; they disqualify us to receive the 
comforts which Providence ever intermingles with 
its most afflictive dispensations ; and incapacitate us 
to discharge the duties, not only of the circum- 
stances in which we at present are, but of those 
which will be required of us when they arrive. In- 
terfering with the discharge of duty, they are them- 
selves undutiful and irreligious; they add sin to 
sorrow. 

But let not the faithful Christian infer from hence, 
that all painful forethoughts are criminal anxieties; 
God distinguishes between infirmities and sins: let 
the Christian learn for his own comfort to distin- 
guish between them too. If he knows, that he 
would not, if he could, reverse one decree of God, 
however painful and distressing to him; if he 
knows, that he would not, if he could, accomplish 
his most darling hope at the expense of the divine ap- 
probation ; if he knows, that he would not, if he 
could, save his most precious blessing by forfeiting 
his Maker's friendship ; let him be assured that God 



of undue Anxiely. 125 

remembers his frame, and expects not that he should 
put off his nature. God will compassionate his frail- 
ties; he will overlook the starting tear, and forgive 
the involuntary sigh. Let him make it his endea- 
vour to be " careful for nothing," and God will ap- 
prove and bless him. Let him in every thing by prayer 
and supplication, with thanksgiving, make known his 
requests unto God, and he may hope, that, " the 
peace of God, which passeth understanding, shall 
keep his heart and mind through Christ Jesus. *' 



PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty, thou art the creator of 
the ends of the earth, who faintest not, neither art 
weary. Thou madest us, and not we ourselves, we 
are thy people and the sheep of thy pasture, thou 
formedst our bodies out of the dust of the earth, 
thou breathedst into them the breath of life, and 
thine inspiration hath given us understanding. This 
life we know is a changeable and imperfect scene, 
in which all our comforts and delights are exposed 
to perpetual danger. May no anxiety respecting the 
future interfere with our thankfulness for present 
blessings, or at all impede our alacrity, diligence, and 
zeal in thy service. May our hearts be fixed, trust- 
ing in thee, who will not suffer us to want the 
strength that is needful to our day. Encouraged 
by all that we see around us of thine infinite good- 
ness, — by our own experience of thy past care and 
kindness, we would in well doing commit all our 
future interests unto thee ; we would dismiss all 
anxiety and care, and would cast our burdens on 
the Lord, resigned unto his will, and rejoicing in 
his fatherly protection. 

6 



126 The Unreasonableness and Folly, &c. 

In whatever state we are, may we therewith be 
content: May it be our only solicitude, to discharge, 
in the most acceptable manner, all the duties of 
every circumstance into which thy providence may 
lead us ; and though the fig tree should not blossom, 
nor fruit be in the vine, though the labour of the 
olive should fail, and the fields should yield no meat; 
though the flock should be cut off from the fold, and 
there be no herd in the stall ; though this world's 
comforts should entirely fail, supported by the testi- 
mony of our conscience, and the exceeding great and 
precious promises of God, may we still rejoice 
in the Lord for ever, and joy in the God of our 
salvation ! 



DISCOURSE V. 

ON THE DUTY OF JOINING THANKSGIVING 
WITH PRAYER IN TIME OF AFFLICTION. 



PART I 



Philippians iv. 6. 

In every thing by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, 
make known your requests unto God. 

Prayer is the natural language of fear and trouble; 
while they know no change, it often happens, that 
men fear not God — afflictions send them to him. 
When dangers and distresses have convinced 
them of their own weakness, and of the vanity of 
all human aid, then they cry unto the Lord to 
give them help from trouble ; they are no longer 
able to resist the conviction of their absolute de- 
pendence upon him ; no longer willing to dispute 
the propriety of addressing themselves to him; 
no longer capable of stifling the propensities of 
nature, or of restraining the homage that they owe to 
the great Maker and Ruler of the world, in times 
of trouble, then, prayer to God is as natural as it 
is right : But who can sing the songs of praise 
under the clouds of sorrow, and amidst the waters 
of affliction ? What connexion is there between 
thanksgiving and distress ? What could move the 



128 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

apostle to inculcate this duty upon those that are 
in trouble ? When we are delivered out of trouble, 
thanksgiving is undoubtedly of especial obligation ; 
and prayer and supplication, while our troubles 
last; but why is it required of us to mingle thanks- 
giving with our prayers in the day of our afflic- 
tion ? A multitude of reasons will suggest them- 
selves to any one who will seriously consider the 
question ; give me leave, briefly, to mention a 
few. 

I. We may observe, in general, that afflictions 
are not evils. Let me not be mistaken; I mean 
not to deny that nature shrinks from them ; I 
mean not to insinuate, that we can by any means 
render ourselves insensible to pain and sorrow ; 
I speak not of the present pressure of affliction, 
but with respect to the future consequences of 
present suffering; with respect to the moral in- 
fluences of adversity, with respect to the fair and 
the abundant fruits of holiness and happiness 
which by faith, and patience, and diligence, it 
may be made to yield. I speak with regard to 
the whole, both of our condition and our existence ; 
and when it is asserted that afflictions are not 
evils, it is meant, that without them we should 
have less comfort in this present scene of things; 
or, fewer advantages in our power with respect 
to that eternal state which is soon to succeed it : 
they do, or at least, if it is not our own fault, they 
may, advance our interests upon the whole, and 
therefore are not upon the whole, evils. There 
is no evil being that has any thing to do in the go- 
vernment of the world ; it is ruled by the God 
of love. Our sharpest pains, our severest anguish, 
are not the cruelties of a malignant principle, 
they are not the barbarous sport of an insensible 
and wanton mind. They are not blown to us by 



with Prayer in the Time of Affliction. 129 

the wind of chance, nor borne down upon us by 
the torrent of an unintelligent and irresistible 
destiny : they are the gracious visitations of our 
heavenly Father, without whom, not a sparrow 
falleth to the ground, nor a hair from the human 
head. We call them evils, and yet they come 
from the pure and incorruptible fountain of all 
good ; and it is with the kindest intention that 
they are sent to us. Did we see with the eyes of 
God, we should call them all blessings ; for they 
are all alike capable of being converted by us to 
our interest, and all alike intended to do us good. 
If any confidence can be placed in the clearest 
deductions of reason, this is an indubitable con- 
sequence of the absolute independence and infi- 
nite perfection of God. The word of God is as 
clear and full as we could wish it, on a point of 
such mighty moment to our tranquillity and com- 
fort. How often are we told there, that nothing 
happens to us but by his appointment — that there 
is no evil — nothing that we blindly call so, but of 
his creating; that he has no pleasure, either in 
the destruction, or the distresses of his creatures ; 
that he does not willingly afflict or grieve the chil- 
dren of men ; that he chastens them, not for his 
own pleasure, but for their profit, that they 
may be made partakers of his holiness ? How 
often are we taught that the sufferings of life are 
not the tokens of divine wrath, but the testi- 
monies of God's paternal attention and compas- 
sion ? That the trials of adversity, the various ca- 
lamities with which we are visited, are calculated 
to promote our virtue, to improve our comfort, to 
secure our best interest, and to enlarge our hea- 
venly inheritance. — The light affliction of this tran- 
sitory world, which is but for a moment, worketh 
out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight 
of glory. 



130 On the Duty of joining Thansgiving 

If such then be the nature of afflictions; if such 
be the principle from which they come; if such be 
their genuine tendency, and such the advantages 
they put into our hands, have we no reason to give 
thanks for them? Difficult it may be, but unrea- 
sonable it is not. 

No man can be at a loss to say, which hath the 
greater obligation to his father, the child that is 
suffered, without discipline or culture, to grow up 
in ignorance and folly, the slave of humour, appe- 
tite, and passion ; or, the child whose prejudices are 
carefully corrected, whose follies are properly re- 
buked, whose faults are mercifully and calmly, yet 
steadily and uniformly chastised, and who is instruct- 
ed, or assisted to instruct himself, in whatever is of 
most importance to the interests of his future life ; 
and it is not to be doubted, that when they have 
each attained to maturity of judgment, and acquir- 
ed experience in human things, the one will lament 
the blind indulgence that permitted him without in- 
terruption to enjoy himself according to his own 
will, and the other will rejoice in the hardships to 
which he was inured, and will estimate even the se- 
verities that excited no gratitude at the time, among 
the truest arguments of parental tenderness and 
love. — This whole life, in respect to the whole of 
our existence, is a scene of discipline and education ; 
have we not reason to rejoice in the superintendence 
of our heavenly Father? If we were left without 
the instructions and admonitions, without the cor- 
rectives and corroborations of adversity, then would 
he not deal with us as sons. 

But, to put the discipline of this life as it affects 
the interests of the next, out of the account ; to 
consider only the enjoyment of our present be- 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction, 131 

ing ; it might bear a doubt, whether such sufferings 
as ordinarily fall to the lot of men, together with 
the supports, the consolations, the deliverances that 
are ordinarily granted them, do not make, or put 
it in our power to make, even this present state a 
more desirable and more comfortable scene, than if 
every species of adversity were absolutely excluded 
from it. There is a joy in deliverance, that exists 
not in uninterrupted security : there is a delight in 
the restoration of a comfort, which for a time has 
been either totally or in part suspended, that is not 
to be found in the continued possession of it. There 
are a multitude of soothing satisfactions that are pe- 
culiar to the hour of trouble. While we reflect on 
the blessings that remain, they are the more en- 
deared to us ; when we experience the efficacy of 
those supports with which God has furnished us, how 
sweet are our reflections on the tenderness of our 
heavenly Father, who never leaves us, nor forsakes 
us; who forgetteth not how frail we are; and who, 
in the midst of judgment, remembers mercy ! 

What joy is it to the Christian, (and all men may 
attain the Christian temper) what joy is it to reflect 
that his trials have not overcome his faith, nor ex- 
tinguished his devotion, nor diminished his alacrity 
in the service of his Maker ? What joy is it that 
he bears, or strives to bear, his burdens, with a de- 
cent composure, and that he improves, or labours to 
improve them with all fidelity and diligence ? Into 
what tenderness does not sorrow melt the heart of 
friendship? What unusual and delightful accep- 
tableness does it not impart to all its services ? 
W r hat stability and firmness does it not for ever add 
unto the union ? 

These things, if we attend to them, may suffice 
to satisfy us, that with respect even to the enjoy- 



132 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

ment of the present life, it is no undesirable thing 
that we should sometimes receive the visits of ad- 
versity. It is not the child that is indulged in all 
his wishes, that best enjoys even the season of his 
tutelage and childhood; neither is it the man who 
never knows the discipline of adversity, that best 
enjoys this scene of human education. The salu- 
tary severities that occasionally restrain the per- 
verseness of the child, or that correct the preju- 
dices, compose the dissipation and improve the sen- 
sibility of the man, contribute each in its place to 
enlarge their capacity of happiness. — What impro- 
priety then is there in the Apostle's counsel ? To 
our prayers to God in the day of trouble and dan- 
ger, why should we not add our thanksgivings? 

I will not ask the sinner if he has no cause to be 
thankful for the afflictions that recall him from his 
wanderings, and cure him of his levity, and bring 
him back to God.* Let me ask the Christian, who 
may perhaps think that he stands less in need of 
such distasteful dispensations, if there be no cause 
for thankfulness in circumstances, that may enliven 
his conviction of his own weakness and insufficiency, 
and of his absolute dependence upon God? In cir- 
cumstances that most feelingly demonstrate to him 
the importance of the divine favour, and the vanity 

* The following lines were written by the late eminently pious 
Dr. Doddridge, on the tombstone of a young man, who died in con- 
sequence of a broken leg, and whose life, previous to that accident, 
had been very intemperate. They are inserted by the Editor, not 
for the beauty of the poetry, but as the record of an interesting fact, 
and for the justness of the sentiment. 

In life's gay prime a thousand joys I sought, 

But heaven and an immortal soul forgot ; 

In riper years, Affliction's smarting rod, 

And pains and wounds, taught me to know my God j 

I bless'd the change with my expiring breath, 

And life ascrib'd to that which wrought my death. 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 133 

of all human things? In circumstances that mo9t 
powerfully incline him to serious thought and sin- 
cere devotion ; that melt his heart into all the sweet 
and amiable sympathies of Christian charity and 
love; that clothe him more gracefully than ever, in 
humility ; that engage him in the most accurate ex- 
amination of his heart and conduct, and that quick- 
en the sentiments of penitence, and strengthen his 
resolutions of obedience? — In such circumstances, 
Christian, is there nothing for which thou sbouldst 
give thanks? — These advantages, affliction offers 
thee; these uses thou mayest make of it; whilst 
thou prayest to God, then, that he would give thee 
grace so to improve them, shouldst thou not give 
thanks, that thou hast them in thy hands so to be 
improved ? 

2. In our afflictions it becomes us to unite thanks- 
givings with our prayers, for another reason also, 
viz. that our sufferings are not so great as our de- 
merit. — Sinner, perhaps thou art afflicted ; trouble 
after trouble hath laid hold upon thee; deep and 
various are thy distresses, and thou art. ready to cry 
out, " come and see, was ever sorrow like unto my 
sorrow ?" From my heart I pity thee, and I pray 
God that in the end it may prove good for thee that 
thou art so afflicted. I am ready to admit all that 
thou canst think of the weight of what God hath 
laid upon thee. Yet consider for a moment, and 
thou must admit, that notwithstanding all, thou hast 
reason to rejoice and to give thanks. — Thou art 
a living man, and for the living there is hope: the 
day of grace is not over, the gates of mercy are 
not shut — thy eternal interests are not yet desperate. 
Surely it is a privilege to be owned with the warm- 
est gratitude, that thou art yet in a state of disci- 
pline and hope. — How dreadful had been thy situa- 

7 



134 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

tion, if justice had already summoned thee to her 
awful tribunal, and had pronounced the irrevocable 



loom r 



It is no unworthy or unuseful exercise of our 
understanding, to contemplate the various charac- 
ters and circumstances of mankind, and to consider the 
influence, which in fact they have, or in reason ought 
to have upon each other. But after all, our most 
urgent business is at home. Christians, what think 
ye of yourselves ? what think ye of your own suf- 
fering? what have you thought, what should ye 
think, of your afflictions ? You have not, 1 would 
hope, so unjust an idea of the present state, so over- 
weening an idea of your own merit, as to conceive, 
that the most perfect sincerity in your obedience to 
the law of God, your most diligent and strenuous en- 
deavours to fulfil all righteousness, either will, or 
ought to exempt you from afflictions. You pray to 
be delivered, but you pray more earnestly to be 
supported, and to be led to the just improvement 
of them; and with these your humble supplications, 
you offer up thanksgivings, not less sincere and 
cordial, that in the midst of judgment God remem- 
bers mercy. — What, you say, had been my con- 
dition, if it had been determined by my merit? 
If for every instance in which I had forgotten God, 
he had forgotten me and my concerns; if for every 
duty I had neglected, he had subtracted but one from 
my comforts and enjoyments; — if, for every devia- 
tion I have made from the way of his command- 
ments, his chastisements had come upon me ; my 
hopes had been extinguished; my comforts had 
been exhausted, and my miseries had been already 
insupportable. How precious are his thoughts unto 
me! how great is the sum of them! It is true, I 
have been happier; but while I can hope in God 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction, 135 

that he will extend his compassion to me, and can 
rejoice in his benignity that he has not chastened 
me according to my demerit, but according to his 
own goodness, I am not unhappy still. Thy mer- 
cy, O my God, appears in every dispensation of 
thy providence. The prosperities thou bestowest 
on me demand my gratitude, for I am not worthy 
of them ; I am not even worthy to be chastened 
with so much tenderness and pity. 

Such, in regard to the dispensations of divine 
Providence, are the sentiments of every heart that 
is truly Christian. — In this manner does the Chris- 
tian own his obligation in all things to give thanks. 



PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty, thou art greatly to be 
feared, and to be had in reverence of all them that 
come nigh unto thee, for thou seest not as man 
seeth, neither art thy ways like our ways. Into this 
world we know we are sent as into a school of dis- 
cipline and education ; notwithstanding therefore 
all the difficulties and trials we may meet with, 
some of which may try our faith and patience to the 
uttermost, may this be at all times our support and 
consolation, that the Lord God omnipotent reign- 
eth; that he will never leave us if we forsake not 
him ; that our strength shall be proportioned to 
our day ; that if w ? e love him, all things shall work 
together for our good according to his promise ; 
and that if we obey him, we shall finally, and for 
ou.^ht we know speedily be received into that better 
world, the great object of our wishes and our hopes, 
where we shall obtain the reward of our faith and 
patience, in pure, unspeakable, and unchangeable 
felicity. 



136 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving, &c. 

Seeing we have this transporting expectation in 
us, may we hold out unto the end. Enable us, 
God, to occupy all our talents with fidelity and dili- 
gence ; to sustain all our trials with fortitude and 
constancy, till we see him, whom having not seen 
we love, and hear that blessed sentence — well done 
good and faithful servants, enter ye into the joy of 
your Lord, 



DISCOURSE VI. 



ON THE DUTY OF JOINING THANKSGIVING WITH 
PRAYER IN TIME OF AFFLICTION. 



PART II. 



Philippians iv. 6. 

In every thing by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiviug. make 
known your requests unto God. 

In the hour of trouble it becomes us to unite 
thanksgiving with our prayers, because, let our 
condition be what it may, it is not so afflictive as it 
might have been. 

In every sorrow that you have ever yet expe- 
rienced, it would be very easy for you to imagine 
what would have greatly aggravated and embit- 
tered it. There were still some powers of your 
nature, there were still some circumstances of your 
situation, which the arrows of adversity had not 
reached. — If you were poor, perhaps you were in 
health; if you were sick, perhaps you did not want 
what might procure you wherewith to mitigate and 
remove your sicknesses. If your bodies were dis- 
eased, your minds were not disordered, you were 
still possessed of your rational and moral powers; 
and though your bodily diseases were many, you 



138 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

were not exercised with all the pains and sicknesses 
that might have been combined together ; it is 
probable you might have recollected among your 
friends, perhaps you might have found within your 
neighbourhood, those that were at that very time 
proved with more. If your friends were in trouble, 
yet it was only some, not all of them ; you per- 
haps were not afflicted, but in their affliction : if 
you were in trouble, they perhaps were not afflicted 
but in yours. You were not incapacitated for per- 
forming the offices of friendship for them, nor 
they withheld from rendering the like services to 
you. 

If your troubles were of such a nature as to ad- 
mit of human consolation and relief, it is probable 
that they befel you in a scene, and at a time, when 
such aids and comforts might be obtained : If, of 
such a nature they were not, and the whole burden 
must have been borne by yourself alone, it is very 
probable you can call to remembrance those sea- 
sons and conjunctures of your life, those states of 
mind, of body, or of circumstances which formerly 
yon have experienced, in which it was possible 
you might have been placed again, wherein the 
troubles that oppressed you would have borne 
upon you much more heavily, and have affected 
you with much keener and more insupportable 
distress. 

If your anguish has been very sharp, it has not 
been very tedious ; if your sorrow has been of 
some continuance, it has not been without inter- 
vals of comfort and enjoyment, and perhaps all 
along it has been very tolerable. If the afflictions 
which you have feared have overtaken you, yet 
you feared them perhaps sometime before you 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 139 

felt them, and when they came, though you 
found them very painful, yet not so distressing as 
you feared. They might have embittered life 
much sooner, they might have embittered it much 
more. 

You are injured in your property, you feel it 
sensibly, those who are dependent on you feel it ; 
but say, is there nothing still remaining to you, of 
which you might be unjustl) deprived ? — You are 
injured in your honour, misrepresented, calumniat- 
ed, and traduced by some means or other; by 
unjust suspicion, by uncandid interpretation, by 
malignant slander, you have suffered in the esteem 
of men ; in the friendship of those who were n?ost 
tenderly affected towards you, and thus, much 
of the comfort of your life has been destroyed ; it 
may be so, but would it not have been a severer 
trial, if you had deserved such calumnies ? Would 
it not have pained you more to have been conscious 
that such detractions, though unkind, were not un- 
just ? Have you been degraded as low as possible 
in the opinion of mankind ? Have the enemies of 
your repose done you all the mischief they might 
have done. 

By the instability of human things, by the 
changeableness of human disposition, or by the 
stroke of death perhaps, you have lost a relative 
or a friend ; not one perhaps, but more ; they are 
no longer to be found in this world ; or, if they 
be, through the vicissitudes to which this world is 
subject, some, whom you counted among its most 
valuable blessings, are to you as if they were not. 
It may be so ; but are there none that might be 
added to the number? It is true these are the 
richest treasures of this present state* but have all 



140 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

your riches made themselves wings and fled away ? 
Has there been no succession in the circle of 
your connexions? Is there no reason to expect 
there may be ? Are there none remaining to you 
of all that have long occupied your most pleasing 
cares, tendered you the most substantial services, 
and furnished you with your most delightful enter- 
tainment ? There are very few, even of those who 
have reached the extremest date of human life, that 
can make a complaint like this ; very few on whose 
connexions time and chance have made such dread- 
ful depredations, that they have none in whom they 
can trust to sweeten what remains of life, and to 
lay them in a descent grave ; and while this is not 
our condition, it is not so deplorable as it might 
have been. 

In every scene of affliction, in every hour of 
trouble, there is something for which we may, 
something for which, if we would be faithful to our 
duty, we must give thanks. — My friends, there is 
no condition of human life that we ever have ex- 
perienced, or ever shall, from which some consola- 
tions, still left us, might not have been withdrawn ; 
to which some sorrow might not have been added ; 
in which some circumstances might not have been 
altered for the worse. 

In the second place, it becomes us, in our afflic- 
tions, to unite thanksgiving with our supplication, 
because our afflictions, in this life, never are so great, 
but that they admit of consolation. 

Diseases both of body and mind, are in very many 
instances capable of being cured by proper applica- 
tions ; and even in those instances where they prove 
incurable, the anguish of them, ordinarily at least, is 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 141 

capable of being mitigated ; and such is the benig- 
nity of God, that both in the material and spiritual 
worlds he hath furnished us with a variety 0/ reme- 
dies and lenitives for the various pains and distress- 
es to which we are liable. It is a law of our nature 
that reflects the greatest honour on the Author of it, 
and calls upon us for perpetual gratitude, that in 
many cases, the longer we suffer, the lighter our 
sufferings become. If our pleasures please us less 
when they are become habitual, this is abundantly 
made up to us in the counterpart of the appointment 
— that our distresses distress us less, as we become 
inured to them. 

Prayer is another of the comforts of which we 
may avail ourselves in our afflictions ; it is a comfort 
which God extends to us, and which he means, which 
he expects, which he requires us to take. To our 
dutiful endeavours to sustain our sorrows, we may 
add our pious supplications for support, and comfort, 
and relief; and having done this, we cannot, in any 
circumstances, however distressing, be devoid of 
hope. Hope is the great cordial of human life. It 
must mingle with our most prosperous circumstan- 
ces, or the enjoyment of them will be but very dull, 
and languid, and imperfect : Without hope, the ad- 
versities of life, even in the lightest instances, would 
sit heavily on our hearts; and on the contrary, our 
most grievous sufferings yield in some measure to 
its cheering influences. In our worst condition, we 
are not without hope that the day is coming when 
it may be better with us ; our pains may cease, our 
fears may vanish ; our difficulties mayfind a period 
at last; by and by our tears may be dried up, and 
our wounded hearts be healed. — If no other hope 
remain to us, yet we know that ere long we shall 
arrive at those peaceful mansions, where the weary 

8 



142 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

are at rest. Our troubles will at least cease there. 
Death will compose our fears and take away our 
pains. We shall groan no more in that land of sk 
lence. When that placid slumber steals upon us, 
every grief will be forgotten. Though no bright 
interval should gild the remainder of the day, when 
once the sun of life is set, the night we know will be 
still and easy ; we shall rest then, if not before ; 
and if our state be such, that we find no inter- 
mission of our anguish, that night is probably not 
far off. 

These hopes, Christians, nothing can take from 
us : we have no pains that are immortal. The 
storms of life must drive us to the haven whither we 
are steering. Let us keep our good character, and we 
cannot miss our port. When sorrows press upon us, 
it is a sweet reflection, a thought that soothes the 
anguish of our hearts, that by and by we shall shut 
our eyes on all that troubles us, and lay ourselves 
down, to be disturbed no more. — But how much 
sweeter, how much more soothing is the thought, 
of what mighty power, Christians, have you not 
often found it to cheer you in a dark and painful 
hour, that when we are retired from this world's 
troubles, we shall be received to that where no 
tribulations come ; to pure, and endless, and in- 
conceivable felicity ? This hope is indeed an anchor 
of the soul, sure and steadfast ; the consolation it 
contains is unspeakable. The vale of death is peace- 
ful, the world to which it leads, is glorious and hap- 
py. — Happy man whose inheritance is there ! Why 
will not all men be so happy ? Happy he, whose 
hope can anticipate his arrival there ! He is well 
prepared for all the calamities of life ; he can never 
want a cordial to support him under them; he has 
reason, and will ordinarily have the disposition too, 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 143 

to rejoice evermore. He cannot guard himself, and 
he knows that God neither should nor will defend 
him from the common calamities of life, but whatever 
may happen, nothing can come without his own 
consent, that shall destroy his eternal interests. 
These consolations, some of them we must have, all 
of them we may have, in every hour of trouble, and 
through every hour of life. Say, then, was the 
Apostle wrong ? was he unacquainted with the con- 
dition, was he inattentive to the circumstances of 
mankind? is the advice impracticable, is the com- 
mand unreasonable, that in our afflictions we should 
give thanks? Much matter for thanksgiving we can 
never fail to have. If then we offer not the sacrifice 
of gratitude together with our prayers to heaven, 
we withhold from God the glory due unto his name, 
and we may do an injury to our own souls; for I 
must just mention in the third place, 

That by cultivating and cherishing that tem- 
per of mind, which will lead us to intermin- 
gle thanksgivings with our prayers, we shall re- 
commend ourselves to the divine favour, in re- 
spect to the wants, and pains, and fears that are 
present with us. 

Will God look with an equally propitious eye, 
on the thankful and on the unthankful ? To forget 
the mercies that we have, is this the way to obtain 
the mercies that we want ? Shall new mercies be 
bestowed upon that man, who shows in his present 
conduct that he will forget them as soon as new 
troubles shall arise? Shall new mercies be withheld, 
by the Father of mercies, from that man whose pre- 
sent conduct gives the best security, that whatever 
is bestowed upon him, uneffaced by time or sorrow, 
shall be had in everlasting remembrance ? Which 



144 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

manifests the best disposition to improve the bless- 
ing that he asks; on which could you rely most 
confidently, that he would employ your bounty in a 
manner honourable to himself and acceptable to 
you, the man who forgets what you have already 
done for him, or he, who, with true humility and 
gratitude, acknowledges your former kindnesses, 
whilst he is soliciting your future favours? — You 
cannot for a moment hesitate how the question 
should be answered. Hear then the Apostle's 
counsel, be grateful for the past, if you would be 
happy in the future, and mingle thanksgiving with 
your prayers, if ye mean that your prayers should 
be regarded, 

In the fourth place. — Our prayers and supplica- 
tions in the day of our adversity, ought to be ac- 
companied with thanksgiving, because present 
troubles do not annihilate former mercies. 

If you have lost a blessing, you have had one ; 
it may be, that you have had it long : it may be, 
that the time you have been happy in the possession 
of it, is much longer than the time for which you 
will be afflicted by its loss. It is now taken from you, 
but the value of the blessing is not hereby dimin- 
ished ; the period during which you were indulged 
by it, is not hereby shortened ; the enjoyment was 
as real as the loss, 

Has sickness seized you ? there is room for 
thankfulness that you know the difference between 
a state of sickness and a state of health.* — Have 
you lost a friend ? You had a friend to lose. Have 
you lost, unjustly lost, your esteem and credit in the 
world ? It is true, notwithstanding, that for a time 
you enjoyed the good opinion of the world, and 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 145 

your obligations unto God who crave you to enjoy 
it for that period, are in this respect unaltered and 
unalterable. You cannot, it is true, thank God for 
a blessing he has taken from you; but it is your 
duty, even when it is not permitted you to retain it, 
it is still your duty to give thanks to him that vou 
had that blessing once, and that it was not taken 
from you sooner. There was a portion of your 
life that was happier than it would have been with- 
out it ; ought you not then to bless him for the 
past, while you implore his pity on the present ? — 
Does it not become you, while you beseech him to 
comfort you under the loss, to thank him that he 
blessed you with the enjoyment. — I said, but per- 
haps I ought not to have said, that you cannot 
thank God for a blessing which he has taken from 
you; for methinks, if reason have that authority 
which she ought to have over your affections, you 
will be able, even after you have lost the comforts 
in which you delighted most, in some measure to re- 
enjoy the pleasures that they gave you. Though 
the blessing be gone, your memory is not gone 
with it ; and whilst this remains, you may avail 
yourself of its aid to supply the absence of the com- 
fort you have lost, by bringing back into the pre- 
sent, the enjoyments of the past. To a mind that 
is properly affected, it gives less pain than pleasure 
in sickness, to recollect the season of health ; in 
poverty, the time of our affluence ; in our separa- 
tion from our friends, the period of our communion; 
in our adversity, of whatever kind, the day of our 
prosperity. Thus we may in a manner perpetuate 
our enjoyments, and with them our gratitude ; the 
pleasure may not be so pure and lively, but it is by 
no means unreal. Our blessings may administer to 
our comfort, even after we are deprived of them ; 
the present may be made more happy by the re- 



146 On the Duty of joining Thanksgiving 

membrance of the past. The perverseness of man- 
kind, it is true, very often employs their recollection 
to increase their misery : they may use it for a bet- 
ter purpose ; and is not this a state of mind, after 
which it is desirable for ourselves and dutiful to- 
wards God, that we should carefully aspire ? But, 

We may add finally, That our comforts, though 
dead, are in very many instances not absolutely lost 
to us : they still live in their influences and their 
consequences. All our past enjoyments, though the 
immediate instruments or sources of them be no 
more, have each had their efficacy in the great 
chain of Providence, have each contributed their 
share to form the present conjuncture of our cir- 
cumstances, and to give their present aspect to our 
affairs. Affluent if you have been, you have de- 
rived some benefits from that affluence that remain 
with you in your poverty : and if any man has had 
a kind, a wise and pious friend, though it may not 
be in his power perhaps to specify them, he must 
have derived some benefits from that friendship that 
will live with him, long after that friend is dead ; 
and it may be, long after he is dead himself. The 
same might be said of many other blessings once 
enjoyed and then lost again; ought we not then, 
though we have lost them, to give thanks ? 

So good was the Apostle's counsel, so wise are 
they that keep it. " In all things, therefore, by 
prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving let 
your requests be made known unto God; and 
the peace of God, which passeth all understand- 
ing, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ 
Jesus." 



with Prayer in Time of Affliction. 14T 



PRAYER. 

O Almighty and most merciful Father — This 
world we know is a changeable and imperfect 
scene, in which all our comforts and delights are 
subject to perpetual danger ; may we rejoice there- 
fore as though we rejoiced not, and weep as though 
we wept not, knowing that the fashion thereof soon 
passeth away. May we never be weary or faint in 
our minds, but may we run with patience and alacri- 
ty the race that is set before us. 

As we call ourselves the disciples of Christ, may 
we habitually exercise and assiduously cultivate, 
that spirit of ardent piety, that entire devotedness 
to thy will, which so eminently distinguished and 
adorned his character. May the power of thy glo- 
rious gospel to impart the truest dignity, and the 
noblest consolations to the human mind, from day 
to day be manifest in our temper and in our con- 
duct ; in every good disposition, and in all worthy 
conduct, may we continue and abound still more and 
more : in all things by prayer and supplication, 
with thanksgiving, may we make known our re- 
quests unto thee ; and do thou, O merciful Father, 
uphold, and support us, and keep us from falling, 
till we be presented faultless before the presence of 
thy glory with exceeding joy. 



DISCOURSE VII. 

MAN, THE PROPERTY OF GOD, 



Psalm cxix. 94. 
Lord I am thine, gave me. 

These are the words of the King of Israel, address- 
ed to the supreme King of kings ; and although 
in one sense they might with perfect justice be 
adopted by every creature he has made, yet there 
are other senses in which they could properly be 
applied by none but those happy persons, who 
could safely appeal to God for the uprightness of 
their hearts, and the integrity of their conversation. 
The true Christian, he, who to faith unfeigned, has 
added a sincere and improving holiness, may adopt 
them in their full extent. As proceeding from such 
a character, we shall consider them at present, and 
shall show, in the first place, what they may be 
understood to signify, and afterwards briefly point 
out, the useful purposes to which they may be 
applied. 

Lord, says the good man, I am thine ; which may 
signify, 

First, I am thy creature, thou madest me, and 
not 1 myself. Vvhen I look back through a few 
years that are elapsed, I presently arrive at that 
period, when as yet I had not a being. I cannot 



il/rtw, the Property of God. 149 

own the instruments of my existence for its cause 
and origin ; for how should they, who are unac- 
quainted with the human structure, who cannot 
themselves boast an independent being, who know 
not what my spirit is, and are even incapable of 
imitating my outward form, how should they breathe 
into me the breath of life, or of what inspiration 
are they possessed, by which to give me under- 
standing ? 

But, as there is no other mortal to whom I can 
ascribe my being, so neither can I be persuaded 
that I exist through any blind necessity of nature; 
I understand not what that assertion means ; I leave 
it to those who are capable of doing it, to account 
for intelligence, without a designing cause. I know r 
very well what my own conceptions are, when I 
say that I was created by some superiour power, 
by some invisible intelligence. 

When I observe how fearfully and wonderfully I 
am made, when I contemplate the structure of my 
body, and the economy of my mind, I discern such 
illustrious proofs of power, wisdom, and goodness, 
as mark me for the workmanship of a nobler 
artist, and bid me look to heaven for the maker 
of my frame. — When 1 consider how much I am 
dependent on the world around me, when I re- 
flect how my various powers are accommodated to 
its various objects, when I see how amply it is 
furnished with every thing necessary to supply my 
wants, and to promote my comfort, I cannot but 
conclude, that he who made the world, made me 
also ; that the Creator of the heavens and the earth, 
is the Father also of the human race. Lord 1 am 
thine, thou madest me. 

9 



150 Man, the Property of God, 

Secondly, These words may likewise express 
another sentiment, viz. As I am thy creature, so 
also am I thy charge ; made by thy hands, by thy 
hands I am supported. As my life was originally 
the gift of God, so it is his providence that con- 
tinues and sustains it. When I look into the world 
around me, I see the vacant places of many a dear 
companion of my infancy and childhood ; my fa- 
thers, where are they ? my brethren and my friends, 
are they all living now ? They who came before 
me, are gone before me; and of multitudes that 
came with me into life, many have long ago taken 
up their residence, in that dark and silent house 
which is appointed for all the living. Who has 
made me to differ from another? Why am I among 
the living, and not among the dead? Why was I 
not long ago cut off from all farther capacity of 
usefulness and possibility of improvement ? Whence 
is it, that amidst so many dying lamps, my lamp 
is burning still? Whence is it, that I yet have it in 
my power to grow in grace and to make ampler 
preparations for eternity ? Is it through any innate 
vigour of my own ? is it the effect of my own pru- 
dence, the result of my own care ? Alas, I am weak 
and frail and impotent as others, as unable to re- 
deem myself, as to redeem my brother frcm the 
grave. 1 am totally ignorant by what means to 
prolong my being, and cannot even promise myself 
the completion of the hour that is now begun. — 
No, blessed God, I am thine ; thy charge ; thy 
care ; in thy favour is my life ; it is thy food that 
feeds me; it is thine air by which I am refreshed; 
it is thy blessing on my industry that supplies me 
with all things needful and convenient for me; it 
is thine arm on which I lean ; it is thy shield by 
which I am encompassed. A thousand dangers 
hover round my head, and the seeds of a thousand 



Man, the Properly of God. 1^1 

mortal maladies are within me ; amidst such infinity 
of deaths, who but God could have preserved me ? 
It is having obtained help from God, that 1 continue 
hitherto! 

Thirdly: Lord, says the good man, I am thine, 
the creature of thy power, the charge of thy provi- 
dence; I also am thy subject. When I look into 
what lies below me in the rank of being, I observe 
that all things fulfil the purposes and obey the or- 
dinances of God. I see that his will is done by the 
animal creation, the earth, and the heavens. But 
they obey him unconscious of their obedience ; they 
know not whose they are, and whom they serve. I 
find within me a nobler principle; I know my mas- 
ter, and I know his law. Mine is a conscious, vo- 
luntary service. The things that are seen reveal 
to me " the Maker's eternal power and domin- 
ion ;" and the frame of nature, and the course of 
providence, instruct me concerning his character and 
government. All things, both around and within 
me, convince me of my absolute dependence upon 
God; and the native, uncorrupted sentiments of my 
own heart, appear to me invested with the power 
and authority of a law from the Father of my 
spirit. Something there is within this breast of 
mine, that assures me I am not accountable to my- 
self alone ; that I am not only to answer for my con- 
duct to my fellow creatures of mankind, but that I 
am amenable to a higher tribunal. I feel within me 
unconquerable forebodings of future happiness or 
misery : these I am necessitated to regard, as the 
sanctions of the law of God. While I am good 
and do good, my hopes of happiness are lively ; when 
I fail in duty, my hopes languish, and my apprehen- 
sions rise. Yes, blessed be God ! I know his 
name ; his law is not hidden from me, and my obli- 



152 Man, the Property of God. 

gations to obey him are complete. His gospel bath 
confirmed what his finger hath engraven on my 
heart I own him for m/ Father and my God, and 
I do homage to him as my Lord and King. Sub- 
ject I am to parents, masters, and rulers, but my 
obedience to them is an act of obedience also to 
God ; and I am accountable to him for the reverence 
in which I hold those, whom his providence hath set 
over me. But my subjection to earthly Lords, is 
limited and mutable; they may abuse their authori- 
ty, and then my obligations of subjection are annul- 
led ; as they change, my allegiance changes, and 
perishes, as they perish ; but the t Krone of God is 
for ever, and his dominion endureth throughout all 
generations. No injunctions of an earthly master 
can absolve me from the duties that I owe unto him; 
no changes of my being can relax my obligations 
unto God ; living, dying, dead, reviving, I am his 
subject, and must be so for ever. 

Fourthly : Lord, says the good man, I am thine, 
thy creature, thy care, thy subject; yea more, I am 
thy property. Let him dispose of me as he pleas- 
eth, shall he not do what he will with his own? 
u The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; 
the world, and they that dwell therein ; for he hath 
founded it upon the seas, and established it upon 
the floods/' I take possession of a portion of his 
earth; I take possession of the inferiour creatures; 
mine I call them; 1 dispose of them according to 
my pleasure, and never once suspect myself of in- 
justice or impertinence. What right have I to them 
which God has not, in an infinitely juster sense, to 
me ? Do I preserve and support them ? Did I 
make and fashion them ? Was it my word or power 
that brought them into being? Is not the same 
great God our common Maker and supporter, and 



Man, the Property of God. 153 

therefore our common owner and proprietor ? Yes, 
Lord, 1 am thine. 

In the fifth place : Lord, says the good man, I 
am thine, not only by the necessity of nature, by 
the inevitable circumstances of my being, but thine 
also, by voluntary choice, and deliberate agree- 
ment. 

It depended not on myself whether I would be 
thy creature, thy care, thy subject, and thy pro- 
perty ; these 1 was before I was capable of knowing 
it; these I am, and these I must be. But, bless- 
ed be God, there is something dependent on my- 
self, by which I may testify my reverence of his 

glory, and my gratitude for his benefits. The 

cheerfulness of my homage cannot be a matter of 
necessity ; the joy of my obedience, cannot be ex- 
torted. This I have of my own to offer unto God, 
"to delight myself in him and in his law:" it de- 
pends upon myself, that he who must of necessity 
be my ruler, should of choice also be my Lord : his 
creature 1 am, but it rests upon my own determina- 
tion, whether 1 will revere him as my Maker : the 
care of his providence 1 am, but it remains in my 
own breast whether I will gratefully acknowledge 
his beneficence : among his subjects 1 am, but it 
must be ray own deed to live faithful to my alle- 
giance : his property 1 am, he may dispose of me 
as he pleaseth, but it must be my own to rejoice in 
such an owner: to acquiesce in his dispensations, 
to triumph in his government, and to devote myself 
to his service ; this must be my own. 

Take me then, great God, take me into the num- 
ber of thy people, own me for a free, a voluntary, 
and a cheerful servant, for all 1 have, and all i am, 



164 Man, the Property of God* 

is thine. The world I know is a fallacious flatter- 
er ; sin is an oppressive tyrant; the service of the 
flesh is infamy and bondage ; the service of God is 
perfect freedom, and in keeping his command- 
ments there is great reward. How happy am I, 
that I have a heart to give him for his benefits ! 
How do I rejoice in this privilege of my nature, 
that I can serve him with my whole soul, that my 
obedience may proceed from choice, not compul- 
sion ! How does ray spirit triumph in the Lord, 
that among all the competitors for the duty and 
affection of mankind, I can despise every interfering 
claimant, and resign myself wholly unto him who 
made me ? Who can plead a better title to me ? 
who will provide for me a better portion ? who will 
cherish me with such tender mercy? Unworthy 
indeed I am, great God, but though unworthy, I am 
not insincere, far be from me the liar's tongue, and 
the hypocrite's pretence : it is, thou knowest it is, 
my desire and joy to do, and bear thy will. O 
that thou wouldst enkindle in me a zeal that never 
should grow cold in thy service, and strengthen 
me with a strength that should never languish or 
decay ! Joyful is the expectation, and truly blessed 
is the hope, that the day is coming, when I shall 
have done with the avocations and incumbrances 
of mortality ; that the day is coming, when I shall 
see thee face to face, and serve thee, as I wish to 
serve thee, with unwearied activity and unspeak- 
able delight ! Often, O thou all knowing God, often 
hast thou heard me in the exultation of my grati- 
tude crying out, Who have I in heaven but thee, 
and what is there upon earth that I can desire in 
comparison of thee ? Often hast thou heard me, 
from the depths of affliction, and in the anguish of 
my spirit, professing thee to be my trust and confi- 
dence, my only portion and my only hope. Often 



Man, the Property of God. lb:> 

hast thou seen me, numbering myself among thy 
people, owning those obligations which no duty can 
repay, and taking up those resolutions which eter- 
nity only can absolve ! These sentiments I would 
cherish, these engagements 1 would ratify. I am 
not my own, but the property of God, and I would 
be his for ever. 

In the sixth and last place, I would observe, that 
the good man may adopt the language of the Psalm- 
ist iii yet another sense, herein appealing to the 
Condescension and to the promises of God that he 
will accept, and keep, and save all those who sin- 
cerely and diligently obey him. " Ye shall be to 
me a people," saith he, and "*I will be to you a 
God." " Come out from among the children of im- 
penitence and unbelief, and I wili be to you a father, 
and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the 
Lord almighty." " To godliness belong all the pro- 
mises of this life, and of that which is to come." 
" In it all the promises of God are sure and certain ;" 
Then saith the Christian, Lord I am thine, thou, the 
maker of my frame, art my Father and my God; 
all that is included in thy favour, is my portion and 
my right, such hath thy promise made it; humbly 
do I appeal to thee for the sincerity of my repent- 
ance, of my faith, and duty, and with equal humility 
would I claim of thee what thou hast most graciously 
condescended to propose to me. Often have I bless- 
ed thee, that my virtuous friends would own me ; I 
have often blessed thee, that those who could con- 
tribute to my comfort in any form, would own me; 
often have I blessed thee, that my pious parents 
would call me theirs ; but if thou, great God, wilt 
own me, if thou wilt call me thine, if thou wilt adopt 
me into thy family, and write my name in the book of 
lif}. after this, what have 1 to fear ? and beyond this, 
what have I to wish ? 



156 Man, the Property of God. 

Having thus illustrated the words of the text, and 
considered it as expressing the sentiments of the 
good man's heart, it remains now that I should inti- 
mate some useful purposes to which it may be appli- 
ed. In the first place, 

1. If we be the property of God, how highly 
reasonable is it, that we should study and obey 
his will. J J 

You honour and obey your parents, and herein 
you do well. If any man feed, and clothe, and pro- 
vide for you, you are modest, humble, grateful, and 
herein you do well. You are submissive, respectful, 
and faithful, to those who are set over you in au- 
thority, and herein you deserve our imitation and 
our praise. If any man deposit his property in your 
hands, you would dread the very thought of violat- 
ing your trust, or of injuring your brother, and 
herein you prove yourself faithful and just. Re- 
member then, that you are the creatures, the de- 
pendents, the subjects, the property of God ; let 
your sentiments and conduct towards others, respect- 
ing each of these relations, instruct you in the senti- 
ments and conduct which you ought to maintain 
towards the great Lord and ruler of the world. But 
more particularly, 

Secondly, If you be the property of God, you 
have the highest reason to be thankful to him 
for every comfort, and to be resigned under every 
affliction. 

Had you been possessed of an independent being, 
had you been strictly and properly your own, had it 
been of your own accord that you had received the 
benefits, and become the subjects, and owned your- 



l\Ian, the Property of God. 15? 

selves the property of God, you might then have 
pleaded that it was not an absolute, but a conditional 
engagement : you might then have received his 
bounties, as what were in justice due to you, and 
murmured against every thing that was unaccept- 
able in your circumstances, as a violation of the trea- 
ty you had made with God : but, if you be his with- 
out any merit in becoming such ; if you be his to do 
with you whatever seemeth to him good ; if you 
have no claim of right on your Creator, how highly 
does this consideration enhance your obligations to 
him for every comfort of your existence? How inde- 
cent, how impious, how unnatural is it to murmur at 
any thing which he may appoint ! 

In the third place, If ye be God's, not only by the 
necessity of nature, but by your own deliberate 
choice and your own voluntary engagements, con- 
sider how highly it behoves you to be steady to your 
choice, and faithful to your vows. If you suspect 
that you have determined rashly, think again : con- 
sider whether you can find a better master, or en- 
gage yourselves in a more gainful service. Remem- 
ber that it were better for you never to have known 
the way of righteousness, than after having known 
it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered 
unto you; and tremble, lest to the guilt of profane- 
ness and of rebellion, you add the accessory guilt of 
perfidy and falsehood. 

In the fourth and last place, If we be God's, if 
owning him for our lawgiver and our judge, he 
owns us for his people, and his children, how solid 
is the ground on which our hopes are built, and 
how secure our happiness ! Whatever comes to 
us, comes to us for our good, for it comes to us 
from an almighty friend, who knows our state, 
10 



158 Man, the Property of God. 

and tenderly regards our interests. Though there 
may be some things in our condition which are 
not for the present joyous, but grievous, yet if we 
be God's, God is ours, and if God be ours, what 
security can we want of an ample indemnification 
in futurity ? Afflictions are very tolerable when 
they are not the ministers of wrath ; and prospe- 
rity is doubly acceptable when we can receive it 
as the testimony of divine favour. The men of 
the world are apt to boast themselves of their fe- 
licity, but if they now prefer the world to God, 
the time will come, when they will praise the 
Christian's choice. Their pleasures will decline, 
his will be improving ; their hopes will vanish 
away, his will be more than realized ; their confi- 
dence will fail them, but the Christian rests upon 
the rock of ages. In the time of apprehension 
and of fear, in the hour of trouble and affliction, 
in the moment of death, in the solemnities of 
judgment, they will want, what the world cannot 
give its votaries ; and what God only can bestow. 
In these trying seasons, when every thing about 
those who are without God, is dark, and gloomy, 
and distressing, the Christian, supported by his 
conscience, and encouraged by the divine pro- 
mises, can derive light and comfort from the rela- 
tion that he bears to him in whose hands are the 
fates of every living thing. When all subluna- 
ry comforts have taken their flight, when human 
friendships can no longer avail, the hope of the 
Christian remains uninjured, for in this world he 
placed not his happiness : — he had long fixed it 
there, where true joys only are to be found, whi- 
ther he is now going to reap that glorious harvest, 
the gracious reward of his faith, patience, and 
obedience ; for he knows who it is that hath said, 
" be faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown 
of life." 



Man, the Property of God. 159 



PRAYER. 

O Lord we are thine by ten thousand ties, 
for thou art our Father, the Author of our being, 
with all its powers, its comforts, and its hopes. 
By our own choice also we are thine, for whom 
have we in heaven but thee, and what is there 
upon earth that we can reasonably desire in com- 
parison of thee ? Thy favour is our life, we will 
seek it with our whole hearts ; and we thank 
thee for the comfortable assurances thou hast 
given, that even by us, unworthy as we are, thy 
favour and thy friendship may be obtained; for 
u the righteous Lord loveth righteousness, though 
he be angry with the wicked every day :" " The 
Lord God is a sun and a shield, and no good 
thing will he withhold from them that walk up- 
rightly." O that our hearts were directed always, 
to keep all thy statutes, then should we never 
be ashamed, distressed, or dejected in thy pre- 
sence, when we had respect unto all thy com- 
mandments ! 

There is a day, we trust, approaching, the hope 
and prospect of which is the support and triumph 
of our souls; there is a day, we trust, approach- 
ing, when all they that have continued faithful 
unto death, shall have done with sin, and sorrow, 
and infirmity, and satisfied with thy perfect like- 
ness, shall be for ever happy in thine heavenly 
presence ! In the meantime, O God, let thy grace 
be sufficient for us ; confirm us in all our holy 
resolutions ; establish us in the steady government 
of our own hearts and minds; raise us into such 



160 Man, the Property of God. 

superiority to the short-lived pleasures of this 
present scene, that we may never be seduced by 
them from our allegiance unto thee. — While we 
live, may we live unto the Lord ; when we die, 
may we die unto the Lord ; in life, in death, 
and to eternity, may we be thine, henceforth, and 
for ever. 



DISCOURSE VIII 



ON THE OBLIGATION, THE IMPORTANCE, AND 

THE REASONABLENESS OF THE LOVE 

OF GOD. 



Mark xii. 30, 3J. 

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all 
thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength, this is 
the first commandment ; and the second is like unto it, namely 
this, thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other 
commandment greater than these. 

In the history of our Lord we read, that as he was 
teaching in the temple at Jerusalem, one of the 
Scribes, having heard him reasoning with the Sad- 
ducees, and perceiving that he had answered them 
well, was so highly pleased that he had put to si- 
lence these adversaries of the Pharisees, to whose 
sect he himself belonged, that he was desirous to 
make a further trial concerning his knowledge of 
the law, hoping probably that what Jesus might 
reply to the question he was about to propose to 
him, would be equally favourable to his own opin- 
ion, and as humiliating to those, who differed from 
him. With these views he addressed Jesus as fol- 
lows : " Rabbi, which is the first commandment of 
all ? ?1 alluding, it is probable, to the divisions that 
subsisted among the Jews concerning this subject; 
some giving the chief place to the law of circum- 



162 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

cision ; others to the law of sacrifices; others 
again to some other part of their ceremonial ap- 
pointments ; and some few, in the number of which 
it seems was this lawyer himself, giving to the mo- 
ral precepts the preference justly their due, and 
considering all these contentions as vain and frivo- 
lous, while justice, mercy, and faith, were over- 
looked and disregarded. The answer of our Lord 
in the text, fully accorded to the expectation of the 
Scribe; and the historian goes on to relate, that he 
replied, " Master, thou hast said the truth, for 
there is one God, and there is none other but he : 
and to love him with all the heart, and with all the 
understanding, and with all the strength, and to 
love his neighbour as himself, is more than all burnt- 
offerings and sacrifices." 

Such was the sense of Moses, whose words are 
quoted by our Lord, such also was the sense of 
Christ himself, and such, as appears from the re- 
ply that the lawyer made to him, are the natural 
convictions of the human heart, concerning the ob- 
ligation, the importance, and the excellency of the 
love of God. Religion is the one thing needful, 
and the love of God is the first great principle of reli- 
gion, the place of which nothing can supply, and 
for the want of which nothing can atone. Love is 
the very spirit of Christianity; it is the affection 
that* breathes in every page of the gospel, it dis- 
tinguished the temper of its Author, and is by him 
given as the characteristick of his followers. It is 
the affection which Christianity has placed above 
faith and hope, which she delights to honour, which 
she labours to inculcate, which she represents as 
the parent root of all other virtuous affections, as 
the fountain of peace in this world, and a title to 
happiness, in that which is to come. 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 168 

The two great objects of Christian love, are, 
God and man ; our Creator and our brethren. God, 
as the source of all excellence and happiness ; and 
men, as they are formed in his image, the creatures 
of his power, and the children of his family. 

It is on the first of these topicks, namely, the 
love of God, that I mean to dwell at present; I 
shall therefore place before you some observations 
relating to the causes of this affection, and the 
foundations on which it stands, or the considera- 
tions whence it flows ; or, in other words, endea- 
vour to show you, why we do, and ought to love 
God. 

In the first place, The unspotted purity, the im- 
partial justice, the inviolable truth, the invariable 
fidelity, and the disinterested benignity of God, do 
most righteously challenge the pure and ardent love 
of all his intelligent creation. The heart that un- 
derstands what these things are, and is capable of 
contemplating these attributes of deity, must be 
sunk into deep depravity, if, beholding the almighty 
Father arrayed in all the beauties of holiness, re- 
joicing in his works, disposing all things accord- 
ing to the weight and measure of wisdom and of 
equity, and ruling all things with equal impartiality 
and tenderness, it does not feel itself elevated with 
a sacred joy, in so sublime a contemplation ; if it 
does not find itself kindled into the devout affec- 
tions of reverence and love. A heart duly pene- 
trated with these views of the divine perfections, 
will necessarily conceive these sentiments, and feel- 
ing their blessedness, will wish to prolong them in 
itself for ever ; and to communicate them, as well 
for their own sakes, as for their Creator's glory, to 
every other heart within its reach and influence* 
But to proceed, 



164 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

In the second place; We ought to love God fof 
the happiness enjoyed by others, as well as for 
those blessings in which we ourselves are partakers-— 
not only for his perfections as they reside in himself, 
but on account of their operations as they are bene- 
ficently exerted towards others. 

The human heart is not naturally, and till it be 
perverted, cannot become uninterested in the hap- 
piness of others. Their miseries instantly awaken 
our compassion, and if a false self-interest has 
not laid us open to the influence of jealousy and 
envy, the sight of their happiness is a consider- 
able addition to our own. We love the patriot, 
or the sage, the publick benefactor, who has con- 
tributed to augment the sum of human happiness, 
however distant the age or country in which he 
lived, although we ourselves can have reaped 
no benefit from his exertions. The affection he 
bare unto the human species at large, gives him 
an interest in our hearts, and we think ourselves 
indebted to him for the benefits he conferred on 
those who were no otherwise related to us, than 
by the similitude of their nature, their character, or 
circumstances. Those scenes of happiness, which 
we never shall experience, which we never shall be- 
hold, fill our hearts nevertheless with pleasure and 
delight. By that power of sympathy, implanted in 
our breasts, by the wise and gracious Author of our 
frame, we not only may, but unless we are become 
miserably depraved, we must, in some measure, 
enjoy that happiness which we conceive to be en- 
joyed by every other human being. We therefore, 
most reasonably, and most naturally, consider our- 
selves as partaking in their obligations, and look 
upon ourselves as bound to go along with them in 
their gratitude. If they be unmindful of their ob- 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 165 

ligations, we are so much more impressed with the 
goodness of their benefactor, who deserved not 
their ingratitude ; if they be duly sensible to his 
beneficence, we approve their characters ; our love 
to them increases our love to him who does them 
good, and we go along with them in all the just and 
ardent expressions of their gratitude. As soon as 
any man becomes capable of contemplating the hap- 
piness of others with indifference, and ceases to 
take any interest in their welfare, so soon he be- 
comes an object of disapprobation and of censure, 
not only unto others, but also to his own mind. If 
such then be the uncorrupted, and approved sentiments 
of the human heart, with respect to the happiness of 
others; if it thus hold itself under obligation to 
regard the benefactor of a single family, a town, or 
a province, as a benefactor to itself; apply this prin- 
ciple to the great universal benefactor, and say, 
with what sentiments of love, veneration, and de- 
light, your hearts ought to embrace him. 

Is it needful to illustrate this proposition ? to un- 
fold the considerations on which it rests ? — Reflect 
then, with regard to the comfort of the human race, 
how divine mercy, having endured from everlasting, 
promises to endure unto everlasting still : consider, 
how partial evil conduces to general felicity ; how 
the temporary sufferings of individuals, often prove 
the means of greater happiness both to themselves 
and others ; how they flow from that very same 
constitution of things whence all their blessings 
spring : observe, what heartfelt satisfactions, and in- 
effable delights, proceed from the consciousness of 
virtue: and, when you have collected all these 
things together, then say, if as a father pitieth his 
children, the Lord pitieth not them that fear him ? 
Add to this, the benignity that appears in the con- 

11 



166 0/1 the Obligation, the Importance, and 

stitution of the world, how the sinner is invited to 
repentance in the dispensation of divine grace; add 
together all that this world gives in possession, 
and in hope ; to temporal, add spiritual blessings, 
and then say, if it be not reasonable, if it be not 
their indispensable duty, that men should praise the 
Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works 
unto the children of men ? 

In the frame of nature, in the course of provi- 
dence, in the productions of the earth, in the vi- 
cissitudes of the seasons, in the fruits of industry, in the 
advantages of commerce ; in the good will and 
good offices of mankind ; in the comforts of domes- 
tick life, in the blessings of friendship, of civil and 
political society, in the power of habit, in the joy 
of possession, in the anticipation of hope ; in these, 
and in many other instances that might be distinctly 
enumerated, the most liberal supplies are granted 
us, not only for the comfort, but for the delight and 
entertainment of our lives. Look upon the earth, 
and behold with what beauty the goodness of God 
has adorned the place of our habitation -, consider 
how the same general laws of nature, and the same 
general course of providence prevails throughout 
every region and every climate of the world ; dis- 



pensing with liberal hand the common benefits o 



life to men of every language, and of every coun 
try : consider further, that the most importan 
blessings are the most common, those which an 
most necessary to all, withheld from none ; and then 
say, if the tender mercies of God be not over al 
his works ? 



i 



While every object we behold bears testimonj 
to every sense, that God is love ; while all arounc 
us from every region of the earth, the voice of joy 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 167 

if not of gratitude, is ascending to the throne of 
the most high, owe we nothing unto God that he 
has spread so fair a scene of happiness before our 
eyes ? Owe we nothing unto God that he has pro- 
vided so various, extensive, and satisfactory an en- 
tertainment for our sympathy and good will ? Are 
the pleasures of benevolence, the only pleasures 
that we do not feel ? the only joys that are unable 
to awaken our gratitude and love. 

In the third place, We ought to love God on our 
own account; on account of the numerous and im- 
portant blessings for which we ourselves are indebt- 
ed to him. Let us, each of us, examine strictly the 
circumstances of our present situation, try to enu- 
merate the various mercies we enjoy, and we shall 
find their number swell far beyond what those who 
have not been accustomed to such an inquiry, could 
suspect or imagine. 

Self-love, in every degree of it, is neither an un- 
just nor an unamiable affection. It is then only, 
when it degenerates into a base self-interest, which 
would serve itself at the expense of others, that it 
becomes the object of indignation or of censure : 
while it is merely confined to what respects our own 
real interests, and neither neglects nor interferes 
with the interests of others, it is natural in its opera- 
tions, reasonable in itself, and deserving of appro- 
bation. Of self-love, it is the necessary conse- 
quence, that we should love those, by whom we are 
beloved. If any one contribute to the gratification 
of our wishes, for the very same reason that we 
desire these wishes to be gratified, we love him who 
gratifies them. If any person do us good, for the 
very same reason, that we love ourselves, and de- 
light in our enjoyments, we love and delight in 



163 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

that person: if then we know God, and attend to 
this important truth, that not a being in the universe 
possesses any power but what was originally de- 
rived from him, and is even during every succeeding 
moment supplied from that eternal fountain ; if we 
reflect, that, by whatever means we become pos- 
sessed of them, all the blessings we enjoy, do, in 
very deed, come down from "the father of lights;" 
from God, 6k the only giver of every good, and of 
every perfect gift;" if we know assuredly, that our 
capacities of enjoyment, as well as the various bles- 
sings which are the subjects of them, proceed from 
God; what reason have we not to delight our- 
selves in him, and in his laws, and to embrace him 
with the chief and first affection of our hearts ? It 
is because we have obtained help of God, that we 
continue hitherto ; it is under the shadow of his 
wings, that we dwell in safety. The daily sup- 
plies of life proceed from his unwearied bounty; ail 
the comforts that we have in ourselves, or in our 
friends, flow from the God of all consolation. 

He has but to speak the word, yea, he has but 
to withdraw his arm, and our resources fail us, our 
hopes are blasted, and our blessings vanish. It is 
but for a few particles of matter to change their 
disposition, and they are changed as easily as the 
dust is scattered by the wind; it is but for such a 
change to take place, and we, or ours, go down in 
a moment, to the grave. They have but to take 
another turn, and more terrible calamities may 
overwhelm us ; our tranquillity, or that of our 
friends, may be converted into horrour ; our ease, 
into agony ; the lamp of reason may be utterly 
extinguished; the wildest imaginations may riot in 
our minds, the most distressful thoughts may seize 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God, 169 

them, and abide with them; and even all the joys 
of a good conscience, as well as the light of an im- 
proved understanding, may be totally overborne. 

And owe you nothing then to his guardian care, 
who with more than a parent's tenderness watches 
over, defends, and preserves you from these, and 
a thousand other evils ? Owe you nothing to that 
liberal hand, without which )ou had not been fed 
from day to day, and without which, your habi- 
tation every night might prove your grave ? 

Compare, my friends, your blessings with your 
merit; did he owe it to your obedience to love 
you thus ? Did he owe it to your services to make 
such liberal provision for your comfort? What 
says your heart ? what does your conscience say ? 
Do they require it of you to distinguish your be- 
nefactors, in proportion as you have been distin- 
guished by them in their good affections and good 
offices ? and will your heart and your conscience 
hold you guiltless, if your first, your supreme — I 
was going to have said, your sole benefactor, have 
no place in your affections?" 

Go then and give unto your mortal friends, the 
love that is justly their due ; render unto your 
patrons and benefactors the gratitude they may 
reasonably expect from you ; repay your parents, 
with an affection, as sincere and tender, as that 
with which they have nourished and cherished 
you ; but remember, that they and all their kind- 
ness were the gift of God ; that to him you are 
indebted for every pleasurable sentiment, every 
sensation of delight and joy ; and then declare, if 
it be not a duty of indispensable obligation, to keep 
his statutes, to obey his commandments, and to 



170 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

love him with all jour heart, and soul, and mind, 
and strength ? 

These reflections it were easy to amplify and 
enlarge, but enough, it is hoped has been advanc- 
ed to convince you, that the love of God is not a 
blind inexplicable principle, proceeding we know 
not whence, and tending we know not whither, 
and consisting in we know not what ; it is not an 
unaccountable attraction ; it is not an unenlighten- 
ed glow of heart; it is not the overflowing of a 
sensual joy ; it is not the ecstacy of a mysterious 
devotion ; it is nothing above the capacity of all 
men to understand, or above the power of all men 
to attain; nothing contrary to, or surpassing hu- 
man nature : it needs not to hide itself for fear of 
disgrace, for it has no connexion with the perver- 
sion of any human principle ; but, on the contrary, 
it is in the depraved heart alone that it cannot sub- 
sist : it has no dependence on ignorance or dark- 
ness; on the contrary, it is only from true and im- 
portant knowledge that it can proceed. 

The love of God is one of the most natural op^ 
erations of the human heart, the most obvious and 
self-approved direction of its sentiments; for it is 
to admire, what is perceived to be truly admira- 
ble ; to esteem, what is infinitely worthy to be es- 
teemed ; and to cherish in our hearts with com- 
placency and delight, the idea of what confessedly 
deserves our supreme affection: it is, to cultivate 
a grateful sense of kindness that exceeds our 
tenderest thoughts, and of beneficence that passeth 
knowledge. — To be devoid of the love of God, not 
only betrays an unnatural opposition to the dic- 
tates of self-love, and of charity ; but also to that 
other powerful and amiable principle, by whatever 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 171 

name you call it, which recommends all moral good- 
ness to our hearts. It implies a strange insensibility 
to our own happiness, to the happiness of our 
brethren, and to the noblest obligations ; a criminal 
prostitution of our affections, and a perverseness 
and inconsistency of character, alike wretched, de- 
plorable, and guilty. 

If then, my friends, there be in you any spark of 
that nature, which God gave you, unextinguished ; 
if there be in you any characters and principles of 
reason; if there yet remains in you a wish to ap- 
prove yourselves to conscience, and to enjoy the 
approbation of your own minds; maintain the 
noble privilege of your species, for man only, among 
all the inhabitants of this world, is capable of 
loving God. Maintain the honour of your charac- 
ter; it shines most illustriously in the honour you 
render to your Maker. Reasonable and moral 
beings you were made, you were formed with 
principles that might assimilate you to God ; that 
might direct your thoughts and affections towards 
heaven, and the great King of heaven : the prin- 
ciples that God implanted in you, tend to unite 
your hearts to him, to preserve you from corrup- 
tion, to purify you from pollution, to raise you to 
the honour of unblemished righteousness; to pre- 
pare you for the happiness of loving him, and of 
being beloved by him, and for the immortal glories 
of his presence. 

This, O man, is the dignity for which thy nature 
is intended, and which is prepared for it of God. 
Suffer not this honour to be tarnished, or to die 
away ; suffer not this glory to sink from shame to 
shame, till at last, in the complete depravity of thy 
soul, the love of God be utterly extinguished ; but 



172 On the Obligation, the Importance, and 

cherish, with unwearied care, every principle that 
leads to so glorious a distinction ; to so just, so bless- 
ed an affection. 



PRAYER. 

Worthy art thou, O Lord, to receive salvation, 
and blessing, and praise, for all things are thine; 
thou madest them in perfect wisdom, and thou 
rulest them in perfect love. The eyes of all wait 
upon thee, and thou givest them their meat in clue 
season; thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the 
desires of every living thing. We, the creatures of 
thy power, and the dependents of thy providence, 
feel and acknowledge ourselves bound by ten 
thousand obligations, to fear, to love, to serve, and 
to honour thee ; to inquire into thy mind and will, 
with care, and diligence, and to keep thy precepts 
with alacrity and zeal. Lord, when we meditate 
upon thy kindnesses and benefits, which have been 
ever growing, with the growing moments of our 
being, and at the same time reflect upon the cold- 
ness of our devout affections; on the languor, the 
reluctance, and the manifold imperfections of our 
obedience ; when we compare thy mercies which 
never fail, with that goodness of ours, which is as 
the morning cloud and the early dew, that soon 
passeth away, we are ashamed and confounded in 
thy presence, and what can we say unto thee, O 
thou observer of men ? — Our unworthiness cannot 
be unknown to thee, for whither could we go from 
thy spirit, or whither could we flee from thy pre- 
sence? What night is there so dark, or what shades 
of death so deep, as to hide our transgressions from 
thine all-pervading eye ! 



the Reasonableness of the Love of God. 173 

Thou knowest every sentiment and purpose of 
our souls : if thou seest that we are duly humbled 
under the sense of our past insensibility and ingra- 
titude, help thou our infirmities, and enable us 
henceforth to serve thee with a zeal, bearing some 
proportion to the extent of our obligations, and to 
love thee with all our heart, and soul, and mind, 
and strength. 



12 



DISCOURSE IX. 

ON THE CARE AND DILIGENCE REQUIRED TO 

PRESERVE, AND KEEP ALIVE THE 

EOVE OF GOD. 



JUDE 21. 

Keep yourselves in the love of God. 

Reasonable as it is in itself, and most important to 
our own happiness and to the preservation of our 
virtue, that we should love the Lord our God, with 
all our heart, and mind, and strength, the text plainly 
implies, that there may be some difficulty in pre- 
serving and cultivating this divine affection. It may 
be useful therefore to inquire, from what causes this 
difficulty proceeds, and by what means and methods 
it may best be overcome. And here we may ob- 
serve, that, 

The habit of attending to things visible and invisi- 
ble, and of pursuing them as important objects of our 
wishes and desires, in proportion to the vigour it 
may add to the influence of such objects on our 
hearts, will, in the same proportion, diminish the 
influence of such as are purely spiritual ; these, from 
their very nature, are ever wont to escape the no- 
tice of the mind, and even, when our attention to 
them is once awakened, without great care and dili- 
gence, they easily,and almost withoutourobservation 
slide out of it again. The impressions of external 
things, which are constantly operating upon us, even 



On the Care and Diligence required, &c, 1T5 

if they are not the objects of our most ardent pur- 
suit, presently displace the impressions of such ob- 
jects, as require the exertion of our attention and 
resolution to apprehend and retain them in view : it 
is only therefore, by a deep and continued attention, 
that any vivid affections concerning spiritual objects 
can be kept alive in our hearts. That attention 
however, to a mind not long habituated to it, is a 
painful and laborious effort. Again, 

The very means by which the love of God must 
make its impression, are themselves capable of ex- 
cluding it from our hearts, and instead of leading us 
to him, of engrossing our affection and attention to 
themselves. The works of God, the laws and 
events of providence, and even the word of God 
itself, are all capable of exciting in us many different 
sentiments, besides the love of him; sentiments that 
have no connexion with it ; and that, in some instan- 
ces, are even repugnant to it. 

We may gaze upon the works of nature, and be 
highly entertained with the views that they exhibit 
to us ; we may attend to the course of providence, 
and be deeply affected by the various scenes through 
which we pass ; we may have the word of God every 
morning and every evening in our hands, and yet, for 
all this, the love of God may be a stranger to our 
hearts — a stranger there it will be, if, whilst we are 
conversing with his word, his providence, and his 
works, we have it not in our intention and desire to 
conceive and to cultivate this affection. Each of 
them present a variety of objects in every scene that 
they set before us, capable of exciting a variety of 
affections: and unless, whilst we contemplate this 
variety, our attention be particularly and expressly 
directed to the display manifested by them of those 
attributes of God, which render him the object of 



176 On the Care and Diligence required 

our admiration and love, our minds will be divert- 
ed from one object to another, and distracted by 
a succession of very different impressions and af- 
fections. 

To love God, we must have lively apprehensions 
of his excellencies, and to attain these, our attention 
must not spend itself on those sensible and external 
things which comprehend the notices of them ; it 
must not be wasted on the mirror, it must look upon 
the image it contains ; it must not be diverted by 
any foreign object, but fixed and regulated by the 
sincere desire, and the express intention to possess 
our hearts with the love of God. And, after all, to 
whatever degree of vivacity this affection may be 
raised by the power of serious contemplation, it will 
quickly need to be revived again. It is a plant too 
delicate not to stand in need of constant and unwea- 
ried tendance, and perhaps, with all our care, it may 
be impossible in this world that it should at all times 
be preserved in equal health and vigour. Yet, the 
influence of the love of God upon our temper and 
conduct, may be, and ought to be habitual. To 
render them habitual however, it is necessary that 
the impressions of the divine excellencies should from 
time to time be renewed upon our hearts; that the 
affection should from time to time be rekindled 
there, and that the intervals of renewing and rekind- 
ling these impressions and affections, should not be 
too distant 

Though the effects of any sentiment upon our 
temper and conduct may remain after the senti- 
ment itself has subsided in our hearts, yet these 
effects will be impaired by the power of time alone; 
and the succession of other sentiments will assist 
the power of time to impair them. The influ- 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 177 

ences of any affection whatever, which survive the 
affection itself, will.be in proportion, not only to 
the vivacity in which the affection is conceived, 
but also to the frequency with which it is cherished 
and revived. 

They who are best acquainted with the love of 
God, in whose hearts it is most familiar, and over 
whose lives it has most power, can tell you, how 
much this sentiment, and the salutaiy influences of 
it, are liable to suffer from the cares of this world ; 
even from the necessary avocations and the indispen- 
sable business of life. They can tell you, how this 
affection needs to be refreshed from day to day, by 
serious conversation with the works, the providence, 
and the word of God. They can tell you, what 
power it derives by withdrawing from the cares and 
influences of the world, to attend upon the ordinan- 
ces of religion ; and they can tell you too, how ne- 
cessary a devout and habitual attendance is, not only 
to its improvement, but even to its preservation. 
With all their solicitude and care, they do not boast 
of its vivacity and power; they regret the interrup- 
tions that it often suffers, and the weakness in which 
it often languishes: their comfort is, that God 
knows their frame and their condition, that they 
can appeal to him for their sincerity, and trust his 
mercy as to their imperfection. If, then, we are 
really desirous that the love of God should retain 
its due influence, we must, in the first place, exert a 
constant vigilance to guard against the various un- 
friendly influences of the many different objects by 
which we are surrounded, and of the various occu- 
pations in which we are necessarily engaged. But 
this is not all; for, 

In the second place, it is of the utmost impor- 
tance that we should sedulously endeavour to re- 



178 On the Care and Diligence required 

press every evil inclination, and to preserve our 
souls an unpolluted temple for the residence of 
the living God. And to this end, we must labour 
to employ our thoughts in such salutary medita- 
tions, as, by convincing us of the baseness, the 
malignity, the ignominy, and the wretchedness of 
sin, shall establish us in the perfect detestation 
of it; as well as in that wholesome self-discipline 
that may reduce every rebellious passion, and re- 
store those principles, in which our likeness unto 
God consists, to their just authority in our hearts; 
not, however, suspending any of those religious 
exercises, the immediate tendency of which is to 
awaken in us the sentiments of divine love, until 
this object be completely accomplished; for, if 
by any means, the love of God can be lighted up, 
and kept alive within our hearts, it will be found 
one of the most powerful instruments to rescue 
us from the bondage of evil habit, to fortify us 
against the power of temptation, and to establish 
Us in the glorious liberty of the children of God. 
It is not therefore, either necessary, or advisable, 
that we should neglect to cultivate this blessed 
principle till all inconsistent principles be remov- 
ed ; but, as the prevalence of iniquity will obstruct 
the progress of the love of God, and render even 
the preservation of it extremely difficult, it will be 
our wisdom to call in every other principle and 
exercise of our understandings and our hearts, that 
may succour and befriend it. And in this view, 
the fear of God may co-operate, and be made sub- 
servient to establish and improve the love of God. 
For, when we consider him, not only as hating 
iniquity, but as preparing the scourge of chas- 
tisement even in this world, for all unrighteous- 
ness; and contemplate the approach of that awful 
day which shall consign the ungodly and sinner 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 179 

to wrath, tribulation, and despair in that which 
is to come; we are furnished with additional aids, 
to effect an easier and speedier reformation of 
whatever is wrong in our temper and conduct. 

Many bonds of union might be traced between 
these two greatest and most active principles of 
religion. What has been said, however, may suf- 
fice to show, that whatever tends to break our at- 
tachment unto vice, of whatever kind ; whatever 
tends to restrain our inordinate desires; whatever 
tends to abash our evil inclinations, does at the 
same time tend to promote the power, and to fa- 
cilitate the operations of divine love, in the conflict 
which it must necessarily maintain, if it be pure and 
genuine, against every thing that is inconsistent 
with truth and virtue. 

But, in the third arid last place; it is of especial 
importance if we be seriously desirous of preserv- 
ing and cultivating the love of God, to beware 
of an earthly mind. We cannot serve God and 
Mammon. 

To the worldly-minded man, gain is godliness ; 
it so busily engages his thoughts, so perfectly sa- 
tisfies his low desires and narrow wishes, that he 
perceives no need, and perhaps can scarcely con- 
ceive an idea of any happiness beyond this, or be- 
sides it. By what means shall such a groveling 
spirit be raised to just conceptions, and delight- 
ful sentiments of God ? What can such a man 
discern to allure his thoughts or engage his affec- 
tions in that liberality, that overflowing goodness 
of the Almighty, which, whilst it admonishes him 
that it is more blessed to give than to receive, re- 
bukes, at the same time, with so much severity* 



180 On the Care and Diligence required 

his own principles and temper ? As far indeed 
as he is interested in this liberality, and actually 
benefited by it, he may possibly conceive something 
like the sentiments of religious gratitude and joy ; 
yet. if you consider how natural it is for such a cha- 
racter to be wholly engrossed by what he already 
has, or wishes to obtain ; to regard all he possesses, 
merely as the fruit of his own ingenuity, care, or 
industry, you will not readily suspect him of so 
much infidelity to the idol deity he worships, as 
either ardently or frequently to lift up his soul unto 
Him, who is the great and sole giver of every good, 
and every perfect gift. 

The love of God, like the word of God, can 
neither thrive nor live among the weeds of world- 
liness ; though the seed be sown, though it begin 
to vegetate and open, yet the soil is too shallow 
for it to strike root ; it will be devoured by the 
vultures of earthly passions, or scorched and 
withered by the heat of base, ungovernable, and 
envious desires. If then, so base a principle as 
that of worldliness has got root within our hearts, 
let us pluck it up with unrelenting indignation. If 
our hearts are happily uninfected by it, sensible of 
its infamy, of its danger, and irreconcileable incon- 
sistency with the nobler principles of our uncor- 
rupted nature, and our Christian calling, with the 
love of God, and all those great and glorious and 
blest affections that accompany it, that flow from it, 
and are nourished by it; sensible of its inconsisten- 
cy with all that can adorn our characters on earth, 
or prepare our souls for heaven; let us keep our 
hearts with all diligence ; let us walk circumspect- 
ly, lest we fall into the snares of this world ; let us 
walk vigilantly, lest by its seducing blandishments, 
it insinuate itself into our affections ; let us study to 



io preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 181 

attain just notions of its value in itself, and of its 
importance unto us. 

Are the possessions of the world, the posses- 
sions of the soul ? Do they infallibly carry with 
them comfort and delight ? Are they capable of 
being enjoyed in all the circumstances, do they re- 
main unaltered through all the vicissitudes of life ? 
Are they stable and secure ; proof against all dan- 
gers, subject to no violence, liable to no change or 
revolution? While they soothe one principle of 
our nature, do they no violence or injury to any 
other ? While they flatter, do they never wound 
us ? While they gratify, do they never mortify our 
souls ? While they smile and promise fair, do they 
never disappoint us with sudden frowns, and be- 
tray us into vain distresses? Are they as desirable 
for their consequences, as for themselves? Whilst 
they possess the mind, exclude they not thence any 
other valuable enjoyment ? Are they attainable by 
all ? Are one man's acquisitions of them, no ob- 
struction to the interests of another, no cause of 
discontent, no object of jealousy or envy ? These, 
my brethren, are properties that by no means be- 
long to this world, its possessions, and felicities; 
they are, for the most part, the noble, and the pre- 
cious characteristicks of those good affections, of 
that approving conscience, of those spiritual joys 
and celestial treasures, which alone are worthy of 
the warm desires and pursuit of a moral and im- 
mortal being ; in which, true riches and honour alone 
consist, and without which, whatever else you have, 
and whatever else you are, you can neither be hap- 
py, safe, nor easy. 

What a portion is this world's goods, for a mo- 
ral, an intellectual, and an immortal being, made 

13 



182 On the Care and Diligence required 

in the Divine Image, and capable of partaking in 
the glories of a Divine Nature ! What folly does 
it argue, what a wretched choice, what an abject 
taste, to take up our rest on earth, when the gates 
of heaven are thrown open to us ! To content 
ourselves with a low, an insincere, and short-lived 
happiness, when pure, sublime, and everlasting joys 
are set before us ! What a wretch is that, who can 
delight to grovel with the insect in the dust, when 
with Angels he might soar into the presence, and 
aspire unto the friendship of his Maker ! How un- 
worthy is he even of that happiness which this world 
can give, who is capable of resting in it as his end, 
the completion of his wishes, and the satisfaction of 
his desires ! 

But what is the happiness that this world can 
give ? Can it defend us from disasters ? Can it pro- 
tect us from diseases ? Can it preserve our hearts 
from grief, our eyes from tears, or our feet from 
falling? Can it prolong our comforts ? Can it mul- 
tiply our days ? Can it redeem ourselves or our 
friends from death ? Can it soothe the king of ter- 
rours; or mitigate the agonies of dying ? Can it 
deliver us from the bondage of iniquity ; cleanse us 
from the pollutions of guilt; or ease our burdened 
consciences ? Can it restore, or sanctify the mind 
that we have depraved ? Can it purchase for us a 
favourable issue in the day of final retribution, and 
insure to us an honourable portion, and happy set- 
tlement in the unchangeable and eternal world ? If 
not, wherefore is it so high in our esteem ? If it 
be so weak, and impotent, and vain, if it have so 
little influence on our most momentous interests, 
both in this life, and in another, why does it lie 
so close unto our hearts? Why should it light up 
such keen desires, and create such invincible at- 
tachments ? When my conscience is oppressed with 



I 



to preserve, and keep alive (he Love of God. 183 

uilt; when I am alarmed with the apprehension of a 
uture reckoning, what is the world to me ? What 
comfort, or what hope can it administer? When my 
conscience bears testimony to my integrity and virtue ; 
when my hopes of a future recompense are just and 
lively — what is the world to me ? What need I from 
it ? What want I of its consolations ? When my heart 
is torn with grief, or oppressed with melancholy ; 
when my limbs are racked with pain, or my bod) lan- 
guishing in sickness, what is the world to me ? That 
my habitation is splendid, that my roof is gilded, 
that my dependents are not a few, and my treasure 
not a little, does this afford me any mitigation of my 
anguish ? When the period of life has overtaken 
me, and the awful messenger of death has read me 
the summons of my departure out of it» what is 
the world to me ? When 1 lie upon a dying bed, 
watching my ebbing life, expecting every breath 
to be my last, and waiting for that solemn moment, 
when the world invisible shall open on my soul, 
what is this world to me ? 

Anticipate that solemn moment ; it will be with 
you in reality ere long. Place yourselves on the 
verge of time, imagine that your course is finished, 
that your glass is run out ; and from the margin of 
eternity, look at the approaching and at the reced- 
ing world : how vast, how sudden, how inexpres- 
sible a change in your conceptions and affections! 
how much is the one world magnified; the other, 
how much diminished in your view ! Arrived at 
such a period, things seen and temporal, all that 
we possessed, and all that we wished for upon 
earth, shrink into vanity and nothing: things spiri- 
tual and invisible, all that we esteemed so lightly, 
and neglected so unreasonably in the moral and 
eternal worlds, swell into infinite importance, and 
appear to us all in all. How insignificant are the 



184 On the Care and Diligence required 

possessions that lately were so much prized, and 
in which we so much vaunted ! How cool and lan- 
guid the desires that lately were so fervent and so 
restless ! How indifferent our regards to this world, 
which lately were so cordial and sincere ! 

Why am I so enamoured of a vapour, that ap- 
peareth but for a little while ; of a vapour, on 
which before it perisheth, my eyes may be for ever 
closed ? A stranger and pilgrim upon earth, why 
should my treasures and my heart be fixed, where 
my days are as a shadow, gliding hastily, constant- 
ly, and incessantly away? Hurried as I am down 
the stream of time, shall I set my heart on the fad- 
ing flowers, that grow upon its banks ? No, I must 
not be so injurious to myself; I must not be so un- 
grateful to my Maker. The creature must not 
hold the Creators place in my esteem. The world 
must not banish God from my heart. Eternity 
must not be sacrificed to the little interests of 
time. 

Cease then, thou momentary world ! cease, ye 
seducing vanities, flatter us no more with your 
glowing colours, and seductive smiles. Peace, 
ye disturbers of our rest! Peace, ye vain imagina- 
tions, why are you so busily employed to give the 
world a false importance, to set it forth in falla- 
cious visions, to divert our souls from God, and to 
rob our Creator of our hearts ? Let the living God 
be our portion and our stay ; let heaven be our 
home and aim; let us not despise, yet let us not 
overvalue this present world ; let us bless our Ma- 
ker for its comforts, while we pray to him to pre- 
serve us from its snares. " Love not the world, 
neither the things that are in the world. If any 
man love the world, the love of the father is not 
in him ; for all that is in the world, the lust of the 



to preserve, and keep alive the Love of God. 185 

flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is 
not of the father, but is of the world ; and the 
world passeth away and the lusts thereof, but he 
that doeth the will of God, abideth for ever." 



PRAYER. 

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who 
art, and who wast, and who art to come ! From 
everlasting to everlasting thou art God, the same 
yesterday, to-day, and for ever ! Surrounded as 
we are by ten thousand objects that continually so- 
licit our attention, interrupt our progress in spi- 
ritual attainments, and call our affections off from 
thee, enable us, we humbly beseech thee, to be 
ever on our guard, that they gain not the dominion 
over us; that they overcome not that love to thee, 
which ought ever to be the ruling principle, and 
which constitutes at once, our duty and our happi- 
ness ! 

The time we know is short, and uncertain as 
well as short, may we therefore use the world as 
not abusing it, knowing that the fashion thereof 
soon passeth away. — All flesh is as grass, and all 
the beauty thereof, as the flower of the grass, — 
the grass withereth and the flower fadeth, but the 
goodness of God abideth for ever. While we con- 
tinue steadfast in his covenant, we are persuaded 
that nothing shall ever separate us from the love 
which God hath to us — O may nothing ever cool 
our love to thee, or at all abate our diligence, zeal, 
and alacrity in thy service ! The life that we now 
live in the flesh, may it be by the faith of the son 
of God ; thereby may we finally overcome the 
world, and be presented faultless before the throne 
of thy glory, with exceeding joy. 



DISCOURSE X. 

ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF THE LOVE OF 
PLEASURE, WITH THE LOVE OF GOD. 



PART I. 



II. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, ill. 4. 

Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 

Devotion is by no means the characteristick of the 
age. The love of pleasure is one of its most strik- 
ing features; it has infected every rank of life; it 
discovers itself upon every occasion ; we meet with 
evidences of it in every district and in every street. 
Even though the general manners were not advanc- 
ed so far, in nominal refinement, but in real depra- 
vation, as that men were already become lovers of 
pleasure, more than lovers of God ; yet, whoever 
is acquainted with the allurements of pleasure, and 
the sediicibility of man, could not be absolutely free 
from apprehension, that when once the love of plea- 
sure is become the fashion of the times, it will con- 
tinue and even prevail, in despite of the most vi- 
gorous efforts of the friends of virtue and religion, 
to subdue or to restrain it, till its pernicious conse- 
quences, by inducing general calamity, have fully 
demonstrated how mischievous and ruinous a princi- 
ple it is. In such conjunctures, though we cannot 



On the Incompatibility of the Love, &c. 187 

turn the torrent, we may perhaps do something to 
contract its ruinous effects — we ourselves at least 
may step aside out of its course, and may have the 
power, perhaps, of taking some that we love along 
with us. 

In the following Discourse therefore, it is my in- 
tention to show you, that there is a real opposition 
between the love of pleasure and the love of God. 
But before we enter upon this topick, it may be ne- 
cessary to observe, 

In the first place, That we mean not to affirm 
this concerning every species of pleasure ; and, 

In the second, To point out some of the causes 
which have unavoidably occasioned considerable 
confusion both in our ideas and language upon this 
and similar subjects. And 

First, We mean not to affirm this concerning 
every species of pleasure; because the greater our 
sensibility to moral pleasures, and the higher our 
delight in them, the more lively and the more pow- 
erful will be our love of God. Neither would we 
affirm it concerning every degree of the love of plea- 
sure, in any meaning of the term; because the love 
of pleasure is a natural principle, made necessary 
by the great and beneficent Author of our frame, 
not only to our well being, but even to our exist- 
ence. All our affections are implanted in us by the 
Author of nature, and are then only vicious, when 
they are perverted to those objects to which he has 
not directed them ; or, when their degree, either 
through excess or defect, corresponds not with the 
measure of those qualities in any object by which 
they are respectively excited : and it is only in some 



188 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

or other of these circumstances, that they become 
sinful and inconsistent with one another. While 
every passion of our hearts is directed to its pro- 
per object, and continues in its just degree, so Jong 
the gratification of them is practicable and consist* 
ent ; they encroach not upon each other, and none 
of them are either criminal or disgraceful. 

But, in the second place, it happens, that although 
we have names for many of our affections, signifi- 
cant of their general nature, significant also of 
the affection in its excess or its defect ; yet, in very 
few instances are we provided with different terms 
whereby to distinguish it when indifferent, neither 
laudable nor blameable, from the same affection in 
its excess, in which, it is in one way criminal, or in 
its defect, in which it is criminal in another way. 
Pride, and anger, are two censurable passions : the 
one being the excess of that affection that is natu- 
rally excited by the consideration of what is wor- 
thy in ourselves ; the other, the excess of that af- 
fection, which insults necessarily awaken. But, for 
these affections, in their general nature, in which 
they are indifferent ; or in their defect, in which 
they are faulty, we have no appropriate terms. If 
we would speak of them accurately and usefully, 
we must describe them in several terms, and care- 
fully distinguish them from pride and anger, which 
are the names only of the excess. 

From this narrowness of language arises much 
confusion in our ideas, giving birth to many pre- 
judices, which, in their effects may be hurtful to 
the comfort, and even to the good conduct of life; 
and hence it becomes necessary, to attend closely, 
and distinguish accurately, when either the nature, 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 189 

or the obligations of man, are the subjects of our 
meditation or discourse. 

For that affection, or rather for that class of af- 
fections which we comprehend under the deno- 
mination of the love of pleasure, we have only this 
single term to signify its general nature; we have 
no names to distinguish it according to the different 
objects it embraces, nor even to express its exces- 
ses or defects. Unless we enter into a particular 
description of them, we have nothing but this gene- 
ral term by which to express all these various senti- 
ments, and all their different degrees* But it is 
obvious, that with regard to some objects of delight, 
our love of pleasure cannot be criminally weak, 
although in regard to others, it may he blameably 
defective ; in respect to some sources of delight, it 
is not probable, it is not perhaps possible, that it 
should run into excesses, in respect of others, it is 
very prone so to do; and there is hardly any class of 
pleasures, in respect of which there is not some de- 
gree of affection that is innocent, because natural 
and unavoidable : hence it follows, that what is true 
of any one thing, which we call the love of plea- 
sure, is by no means true of all that we mean at 
any time by that name. 

The pleasures spoken of by the Apostle, be- 
tween which and the love of God we proposed to 
show you that there is a real opposition, are those 
which we derive from sensible and external objects. 
In respect of these, there are two different species 
of the love of pleasure, which although, in the 
higher ranks of life especially, are often combined, 
may however, subsist apart, and when they do, they 
constitute two different characters; the one pur- 
sues the gratifications of a vain imagination, and 

14 



190 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

forms the character of the giddy and the gay ; the 
other, the gratification of the inferiour appetites, 
and forms the character of the carnal and debauch- 
ed. The hearts of the one, are in scenes of dissi- 
pation and amusement, and there is their sove- 
reign enjoyment ; the delight and desires of the 
other, are in scenes of sensual indulgence, in ma- 
king or enjoying the provision they have made, 
"for the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof." 

It is not difficult to perceive, that there is a real 
opposition between either of these species of the 
love of pleasure and the love of God ; for in the 
first place, it is obvious, 

That it is the natural effect of both, to divert the 
attention of the mind from those discoveries of God, 
out of which the love of him must take its rise. 

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
earth is full of the riches of the Lord; "Day unto 
day uttereth speech, and night unto night teacheth 
us," how worthy he is of our affection. The se- 
date and thoughtful will receive these lessons, they 
will feel their influence, and will rejoice from clay to 
day in the benignity of their Maker. God deals with 
his creatures according to the faculties he has given 
them. We may know him if we search after him, 
but the discoveries he makes of himself, are neither 
of such a nature, nor made in such a manner, as to 
force their way into a mind indifferent to this divine 
knowledge; they will not obtrude themselves upon 
us, while our hearts and thoughts are employed 
upon other objects, and engrossed by very different 
pursuits. Our religious affections depend upon our 
religious knowledge; and both, on our attention and 
endeavours to obtain them. The excellencies of an 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 191 

unknown God can make no impression on our 
hearts; neither can the knowledge of God be ac- 
quired, or improved, in scenes of vanity and dis- 
sipation, or amidst the ferment of licentious plea- 
sures, and irregular desires. A mind, inflamed by 
the expectation, or intoxicated by the enjoyment of 
sensual pleasure, hears nothing that either Nature 
or Providence deposes concerning God, their au- 
thor. Their calm, still voice, must be listened to, in 
order to be heard ; and attended to, in order to be 
understood. 

It is not when the heart is captivated by the frivo- 
lous amusements, or when the eye is dazzled with 
"the pride of life," that we can see, or are disposed 
to see the manifestations of the glory of God. So 
long as our views are attracted by the glare of world- 
ly vanities, or centred on the object of some sensual 
desire, the discoveries of God's glory, however obvi- 
ous, and however clear, will elude our observation; 
they will be to us as if they were not. If the current 
of our affections be directed towards sensible objects, 
and the force of habit have once fixed them in that 
channel, it will carry all our thoughts along with 
it, and will leave us little inclination, and indeed 
little power, to employ our attention upon any 
thing, that has not some obvious relation to those 
scenes and objects in which we have our principal 
delight. It avails not that our general apprehen- 
sions of God, his character and government, may 
be just. General apprehensions are always too 
languid and obscure to awaken the affections of the 
heart. It is only by a serious and continued atten- 
tion to the particular displays of the perfections of 
God, that the correspondent sentiments can be ex- 
cited in our breasts: while our attention is engross- 
ed by other objects, whatever we may know of him 
in general, our love to him will not rise. 



192 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

In the second place, There is a real inconsisten- 
cy between that love of pleasure which the Apos- 
tle censures, and the love of God, in as much as it 
has a natural tendency to render our hearts insensi* 
ble to those excellencies of the divine nature, which 
are the causes and the objects of that affection, 
which we call the love of God. 

It is one natural effect of religious truth, where- 
ever it is clearly discerned, and cordially embrac- 
ed, to increase our sensibility to moral excellence, 
to raise our ideas of the importance of moral 
worth ; whilst, on the contrary, the school of plea- 
sure has never been recommended as a school of 
moral sensibility. It has often been lamented, that, 
hy the enchantments of pleasure, the finer feelings 
of the human heart, its attachment unto moral ex- 
cellence, its thirst after true glory, its admiration 
of whatever things are "just, true, pure, lovely, 
venerable, and of good report," have not only 
been enfeebled, but suspended, and not only sus- 
pended for a season, but sometimes laid asleep for 
ever. But our love of God depends upon the mo- 
ral sensibility of our hearts, for it must arise out of 
our perception of the moral excellencies of his cha- 
racter. In his eternity, he is awful ; in his omnipo- 
tence,fhe is tremendous ; it is in the moral glories of 
his character, that God is the object of our esteem, 
our veneration, and our love. It is his purity, his 
equity, his veracity, his fidelity, his love of virtue, 
his abhorrence of unrighteousness ; his attention 
to the wants, his condescension to the frailties of 
his creatures, his tender mercies, and his liberal 
beneficence which extends itself to all his works; 
these are the perfections that we love in God, and 
in proportion to our sensibility to the excellence of 
these perfections, will be the vivacity of the love 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 193 

we bear him. If we discern nothing excellent in 
these, we shall discern nothing excellent in God, ex- 
cept those attributes of independence and of pow- 
er, which, separated from his moral glories, would 
render him an object of terrour, rather than of 
love. If our hearts are become so callous that 
these moral beauties can make no impression on 
them, the love of God can have no admittance 
there. 

What think you, Christians, is not levity an 
enemy to piety ? Can the love of God maintain it- 
self in a life of unceasing dissipation? Is it in a 
round of frivolous amusements, is it in the crowd of 
ostentatious vanities, that the taste for moral digni- 
ty is to be acquired ? Is it hither you would send us 
to improve and cultivate our relish of moral beauty 
and of spiritual excellence ? The mind that is capa- 
ble of prostituting its affections to those vain and 
trivial things, is that mind capable of any deep im- 
pressions from the moral excellencies of its Maker? 
— Is that mind capable of so nobie and so elevated 
an affection as the love of God ? Can the soul that 
dotes upon the gayeties and splendours of the 
world ; that aspires to no higher happiness, than 
what they can bestow ; that centres all its wishes 
and pursuits on these, can that little soul expand 
itself to admit the influences of its Creator's glo- 
ries ? 

But if this be true of that species of the love 
of pleasure which constitutes the character of the 
giddy and the gay, what shall we say of the car- 
nal mind ? — Look into the frame of the human 
heart — Look into the world, and you will presently 
be convinced of the destructive influences of volup- 
tuousness and sensuality, to deprave our principles, 



194 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

to impair our powers, and to lay waste all the beau- 
ties and honours of the mind. Whence is it, that the 
men of pleasure are usually as licentious in their 
principles, as they are libertine in their conduct ? Is 
it not that, whatever tends to enliven or preserve 
their moral sensibility, tends to show them to them- 
selves in an unacceptable light ? mixes the gall of 
bitterness with their pleasures, and must be shunned 
by them at whatever expense ? Is it not that, what- 
ever, on the contrary, tends to deaden or destroy 
this sensibility to moral worth, cooperates with 
their love of pleasure, which has itself the same ten- 
dency, and encourages them to walk u in the ways of 
their hearts, and in the sight of their eyes ?" 

To love God, is to delight in him ; but what de- 
light can he take in God, whose chosen friends, the 
companions of his unworthy pleasures, are the 
meanest and most detestable of mankind ? What 
delight can he take in God, whose soul is so much 
engrossed, one while by the pursuit and the antici- 
pation, another while by the enjoyment of the basest 
gratifications, that God perhaps is not in all his 
thoughts ? W r hat delight can he take in God, who 
has fixed his portion and his happiness in licentious 
pleasure ? Divested of the understanding that dis- 
cerns justly between the things that differ, divested 
of the freedom that prefers those that are most ex- 
cellent, unable to raise his thoughts to the contem- 
plation of the Deity ; at least unable to relish so 
refined and so sublime a pleasure, can a wretch like 
this have delight in God ? Hardened into such 
insensibility to every thing that is worthy and 
excellent, to every thing, that honourably distin- 
guishes the nature, and which dignifies the soul of 
man, what love can such a heart conceive for the pure^ 
the holy, the spiritual excellencies of God ? What 
joy will he entertain in the contemplation of the 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 195 

divine government, so full of mercy and of love ; or 
what affection will he, whose heart is contracted 
within the narrow sphere of its own meanest inte- 
rests, what affection will he conceive towards that 
God, whose glory and whose praise it is, that ' his 
tender mercies are over all his works?' Sensuality 
is a gulf of bottomless perdition, where every thing 
noble, respectable, and excellent is lost. It renders 
us inattentive and insensible to those excellencies, 
and the displays of those excellencies of his, whence 
the love of God proceeds. It would be almost 
as reasonable to look for this amiable principle in 
the abodes of hopeless misery, as to seek for it in 
the corruptions of the carnal mind. The carnal 
mind is the grave of reason, of virtue, of devotion, 
of honour, of happiness, and of hope ; it is the dis- 
grace and the curse of man; it is both the enemy 
and the abhorrence of his Maker. If you are asham- 
ed of reason and of conscience; if you wish to bid 
adieu to all that is great, and good, and celestial, 
and divine; if you have no satisfaction in those sub- 
limer powers of your frame, by which being like to 
God, you might approach him, and enjoy his favour, 
bury them in the abyss of sensual indigencies, that 
you may abandon yourselves without restraint to 
the dictates of the carnal mind. But remember, 
licentious Sinner, remember, that once buried there, 
they may revive no more ; once dead, and their 
death sealed by they determined profligacy and im- 
penitence, they are dead forever; the sacred senti- 
ments of virtue will live no more within thy breast; 
the flames of divine love will animate thy soul no 
more. All is over with thee as to heaven and eter- 
nity, and the few short hours that remain of mortal 
life, will add little to thy pleasure, but much to thy 
dishonour : and when this world has resigned thee, 
where wilt thou be found? To whom wilt thou 



196 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

repair for comfort ? Whither wilt thou betake thy- 
self? — To heaven? Alas, there dwells that God 
with whom, in the day of thy probation, thou didst 
live at enmity: There dwell those holy spirits who 
seek their happiness in the divine favour, and give 
up all their powers to the influence of his excellen- 
cies, and the fulfilment of his will : These, in truth, 
are the only mansions of light, and life, and joy ; but 
there nothing enters that defiieth ; all is spotless 
purity, and ardent love. 

Beware, my friends, beware ye of the carnal mind; 
; it is enmity,' saith the Apostle, ' against God;' the 
completion of it is miserably fatal ; its excesses 
are dreadfully dangerous ; every degree of it wars 
against the soul, invades its peace, destroys its com- 
fort, and threatens to dispossess it of those divine 
affections which it is its duty, its honour, and its hap- 
piness to entertain. Like all other vicious habits, it 
begins, perhaps, insensibly, and proceeds by degrees 
to its completion : the first approaches, therefore, 
towards it, ought to excite your fear, and employ 
your vigilance. 



PRAYER. 

O Almighty and most righteous God ! Thou 
art great, and greatly to be feared, and to be had in 
reverence of all those that come nigh unto thee. 
Ever mindful of the snares and dangers by which we 
are surrounded, of the allurements of pleasure, and of 
our own manifold infirmities, — may we be enabled to 
keep our hearts with all diligence, that nothing may 
ever find admittance there, that will not bear the 
eye of God. Pardon, we beseech thee, whatever 
thou mayest have seen amiss hitherto, in our temper 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 197 

or our conduct, and may it henceforth be our invaria- 
ble resolution, that, whatever others do, we will 
serve the Lord. 

Sanctify us throughout in every principle of our 
nature. May we not be conformed to this world, 
ensnared by its licentious principles, or seduced by 
its fleeting and unhallowed pleasures; but may thy 
grace, which brings salvation, teach us, denying all 
ungodliness, and worldly lusts, to live soberly, right- 
eously, and piously, looking for that blessed hope, 
and the glorious appearing of the great God, and 
our Saviour Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us, 
that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify 
to himself a peculiar people zealous of good works. 
May we ever keep it in remembrance, that if we 
hold out unto the end, our day of recompense will be 
proportionably glorious and happy, and by the pa- 
tient continuance in well doing, may we seek for 
glory, honour, and immortality, till we have obtained 
the crown of life. 



15 



DISCOURSE XI. 

ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF THE LOVE OF 
PLEASURE, WITH THE LOVE OF GOD 



PART II. 



11. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, 1U. 4. 

Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 

The heart of man is contracted or dilated accord- 
ing to the objects on which its affections are em- 
ployed. Are they mean and trivial ? Great, and 
noble, and important objects may present themselves 
before it, but they will leave no impressions there. 
Are the objects great, and noble, and important, to 
which the stream of its affections has been ordinarily 
and habitually directed ? whatever objects do not 
answer to this character, though they may make 
some faint and transient impressions, will solicit the 
dominion of it in vain. It is not from the giddy and 
the gay; it is not from the vain and the dissipated, 
from those who are devoted to the frivolous pastimes, 
or the glaring pageantry of life ; it is not from these 
that we expect any great achievements in the serious 
affairs even of this world ; we reckon, and experi- 
ence justifies that account, that they are incapable 
of conducting them; we expect to find, and experi- 
ence ordinarily justifies the expectation, that they 
are incapable of being properly impressed by them. 



On the Incompatibility of the Love, &c. 109 

It is not in a heart like this, that you look for any 
great degree, or any wise exertions of parental 
tenderness, of filial affection, or of faithful friendship. 
This is not the character in which you would wish 
to clothe either your fathers, or your children, or 
your friends; and wherefore ? what reason can you 
give for that reluctance to conceive of those with 
whom you are thus connected, under such a cha- 
racter, but the persuasion which experience of hu- 
man nature and of human life, has wrought in you, 
that levity consists not with any just sensibility of 
spirit ? 

It is a very serious truth, to which the attention 
of this age should be perpetually called, that levity, 
as well as sensuality, may superinduce an impe- 
netrable callousness upon the human heart; and 
in time, through the power of habit, may render 
it absolutely unimpressible by the weightiest and 
most interesting objects in the universe. It should 
be reminded also, that the love of pleasure, from 
which both these affections spring, is a cpntagious 
passion, the principle subsists in every heart, is 
inseparable from human nature, and may easily 
be kindled into an undue degree of ardour. Its 
excesses easily communicate themselves from heart 
to heart; the fire runs and spreads and diffuses 
itself far and wide. — Alas, you need not look far 
into the world, to see the exemplification of this 
melancholy truth ! Of you, my friends, I would hope 
that, to engage you to beware of so pestilent a 
principle, 1 need not to urge you, with any other 
argument than this single consideration, that you 
cannot reconcile the love of pleasure with the love 
of God. If, to be conformed to this world, be in- 
consistent with your conformity to the image of the 
son of God, you will not suffer yourselves to be 



200 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

carried down by the tide, either of prevailing vices, 
or of fashionable vanities. You know that, upon 
your conformity to his image depends the dignity of 
your character, your peace of mind, your hope in 
God while you live in this present world, and your 
safety also and happiness, in that eternal world to 
which you are going ; " for, if any man have not 
the spirit of Christ, he is none of his." — -On your 
love to God, you know, depends his love to you ; 
whoso honoureth me, saith God, I will honour, 
but whoso despiseth me, shall himself be lightly es- 
teemed. 

And can you, Christians, can you, to the love of 
pleasure, sacrifice the love of God? If the maxims, 
the manners, and pursuits that prevail around 
you, are injurious to this sacred principle, you will 
step aside out of the stream in which it would be 
extinguished. The pleasures of sin, you well 
know, are but for a very short season, and for 
these, surely, you will not relinquish your hope 
and expectation from his mercy, which endureth for 
ever! 

It is no pleasing prospect to be a spectator of 
the vices and follies of men, but it is a much bet- 
ter state than to be a partaker in them. Who 
would not choose to stand, though it were alone, 
upon the rock of ages, loving God, and beloved by 
him, than to plunge into the downward current of 
licentious pleasures and unprofitable vanities, al- 
though thousands of all that the world calls great 
and honourable were embarked upon it, and in- 
vited him to join them ? If therefore it appears to 
you, that the love of pleasure is inconsistent with 
the love of God, in any degree inconsistent with 
the subsistence, the establishment, or the growth 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 201 

of this heavenly affection, the character of the text 
will not be your character ; whatever becomes of 
the love of pleasure, you will hold fast your love 
to God. If you must deny yourselves, it will be 
in the meaner, rather than in the nobler affections 
of your nature ; you will disdain a life of plea- 
sure, if you cannot find it in living unto God. But, 
even this sacrifice, small as it would be in compari- 
son, will not in ordinary cases be rendered neces- 
sary ; for, 

It is to the honour of true religion, that it is a 
reasonable service; that it requires of us no rigo- 
rous austerities, or superstitious mortifications; that 
while the service of vice is absolutely incompatible 
with the gratification of all our natural principles, 
and requires the sacrifice of the best, to the in- 
dulgence of the meaner passions, Religion provides 
for the gratification of them all. By the proper 
regulation of their objects and their measures, she 
reconciles their interfering interests; and it is by 
the observance of her precepts alone, that they 
can be made harmonious and consistent. To gra- 
tify one vicious passion, it must often happen, that 
another vicious passion must be mortified : the be- 
nefit and pleasure of every vice, so far as there is 
any benefit or pleasure in them, cannot be com- 
bined together: but all the virtues harmonize per- 
fectly with each other, and with religious plea- 
sures; may live together in the same heart; and 
do not, necessarily, exclude from it any one inno- 
cent enjoyment. 

Where the love of God is the sovereign princi- 
ple, the love of pleasure may have its sweetest 
gratifications ; but, where the love of pleasure is 
the sovereign principle, there, the love of God must 



202 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

languish and decline. Where the question is, how 
may I recommend myself to God ? where his ap- 
probation is made the great end of life; there, 
whatever he hath given us the capacity and the 
opportunity of enjoying, with innocence and pru- 
dence, will naturally be embraced by us, as an 
agreeable, at least, if not a laudable concurrence 
with the kind intentions of our Maker, and the 
friendly invitations of his providence. But, where 
the only question is, in what can 1 indulge my- 
self? where amusement and enjoyment is propos- 
ed as the great end of life, there, the love of God, 
if it could be supposed that there was a capacity 
of relishing devotional enjoyments, is an object, by 
no means sufficiently obvious and sensible to be 
taken into the account of happiness; it is of too 
remote and refined a nature to be sought after 
by the sensual, for the sake of the pleasure it 
affords. 

Will the carnal mind exert itself to make invi- 
sible and spiritual things the objects of its de- 
liberate contemplation ? will that which it re- 
lishes in the works of God, lead on the carnal 
mind to the perception and the adoration of his 
moral glories ? Will these be the chosen subject 
of its thoughts ; and to cherish the sentiments 
that belong to them, its desire and delight ? Can 
the carnal mind conceive a purpose so remote from 
its habits and its pleasures? Will it willingly, will 
it seriously, will it frequently employ itself in the 
creation, in the providence, and in the oracles of 
God, with the intention to excite and to enliven its 
affection towards him ? If its Creator's excellencies 
can indeed excite any good affections in it, will it 
watch over the affections they have excited, that 
they may not in its intercourse with other things 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 203 

be extinguished or die away? Will the carnal 
mind be jealous, lest, in its familiarity with sensible 
and external things, it should contract an indisposi- 
tion towards religious sentiments and affections, or 
an inability of conceiving them with vivacity and 
readiness ? Will it therefore often be returning to 
those religious meditations and devotions, which 
have power to renew the impressions when they are 
decaying, to revive the love of God when it is lan- 
guishing, and to keep our hearts as sensible as they 
ought to be, to spiritual, moral, and eternal things ? 
Will the carnal mind have these solicitudes, and 
employ these means from time to time to perpetu- 
ate upon it the influence of the love of God ? If 
you cannot believe this, neither can you doubt, 
that there is a real inconsistency between this spe- 
cies of the love of pleasure, and the love of God ; 
for without the exercise of such solicitudes, and the 
application of such means, even in the mind that is 
not carnal, the love of God cannot be maintained in 
any tolerable measures of vivacity and power. 
Again, 

If such solicitude, care, and attention, be need- 
ful to maintain and cultivate this divine affection, 
can it flourish, can it live in the hearts of the giddy 
and the gay ? Will they, to whom thought is 
fatigue, who fly from amusement to amusement to 
save themselves from their own minds ; will they 
be induced, will they be able, to abstract their 
thoughts from visible and external things ; to fix 
them on God who is a spirit, whom no man hath 
seen or can see, and all whose excellencies are spi- 
ritually discerned ? — But what need have we to 
reason on the subject? Did ever any one expect 
to find a man of pleasure at his devotions? delight- 
ing in the opportunity of retiring to his closet; pleas- 
ed to indulge the sacred sentiments of religion, and 



204 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

assiduously cultivating the love cf God ? Is it the 
men of pleasure that crowd our religious assem- 
blies? Is it the men of pleasure that adorn our 
sanctuaries with a truly decent and serious demea- 
nour? with an appearance that betrays no con- 
straint, no uneasiness, no impatient dissatisfaction, 
or indifference ? Is it the men of pleasure that 
sanctify the day of God ? — But it .is not necessary 
in behalf of the doctrine I maintain, to multiply these 
inquiries; even with themselves I may lodge the 
appeal : it is no part of their pride that they are 
religious ; this is a character that they are more apt 
to deride than to affect; they do not, ordinarily, even 
pretend to be devout.— Yet, my friends, suffer not 
yourselves to be deceived ; let no man conclude that 
because he hath not fully arrived at the open con- 
tempt or even at the total neglect of religion and 
religious ordinances, that therefore he is not a lover 
of pleasure, more than a lover of God. True re- 
ligion cannot subsist with the love of pleasure, but 
the form of godliness may consist with and encourage 
it. The offices of devotion, both publick and 
private, may be performed, may be regularly and 
habitually performed from very different motives, 
and for very different ends. To nourish the spirit 
of devotion, to promote the love of God, they can- 
not be performed, where the love of pleasure is the 
ruling principle ; — to deceive the world, to deceive 
the persons themselves, they may. Try your de- 
votions, do you mean to be really religious, or to ap- 
pear so ? In reflecting on them, do you consider the 
fruits of genuine piety that have arisen out of them ; 
or, are you more disposed to attend to the merit you 
think there is in them ; and under the consideration 
of this merit, to excuse or to connive at those indul- 
gences, of which yo\t have at least some suspicion 
that they are not right ? If it be so, your piety is 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 203 

irreligion, and however unwilling you may be to be- 
lieve it, however averse to have others think so, you 
are indeed lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of 
God. 

But to return, You are saying to yourselves, per- 
haps, that your pleasures are none of them forbid- 
den pleasures, and that you need not to be warned 
against the practices of which you are not guilty. 
Indeed, my friends, I would gladly hope, that to 
warn you against pleasures that are decidedly licen- 
tious, to exhort you to beware of criminal indulgen- 
ces, whether of appetite or imagination, would be 
superfluous and impertinent. You, I would willingly 
persuade myself, have not so learned Christ — You 
are too well acquainted with his doctrine concerning 
the conditions of acceptance with your Maker, to 
think of reconciling the hope of future happiness, 
w r ith the indulgence, either of the " lust of the flesh, 
or the lusts of the eye, or of the pride of life" in any 
forbidden instance, or by any forbidden means. But 
is it unknown to you, that no man suddenly becomes 
abandoned ? Is it unknown to you, that vice 
steals into the heart by imperceptible degrees, and 
acquires her dominion over us in such manner and 
by such means as may be least alarming ? Is it un- 
known to you, that she allures our approaches to- 
wards her, first by one step, in which considered 
in itself there may be nothing blameable, and after- 
wards by another, which compared with the former 
may be very little different from it, till, at length, 
by differences so minute that they escape our notice, 
or perhaps even encourage our advances, she ac- 
complishes the greatest revolutions in our character, 
and alters it from good, to less good, from less good 
to evil, from evil, downwards through its various 
stages, till we arrive at last at the most abandoned ? 

16 



206 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

Is this, my friends, unknown to you ? — Are you so 
ignorant of the deceitfulness of sin, of the power 
of habit, and the influence of example, as, that in an 
age when the love of pleasure seems to be continu- 
ally gaining ground upon the love of God, the cau- 
tion to beware of it should be deemed superfluous ? 
It cannot be. Vice ever lays hold on some natural 
propensity to bring us into her power ; a good rea- 
son surely why we should keep an attentive eye 
and a steady rein upon these principles of our 
frame that are most seducible, and the more steady, 
and the more attentive, in proportion as external 
circumstances favour their undue increase, or en- 
courage and facilitate their corruption. 

If there be, as you have seen there is, a real 
opposition between the love of pleasure and the 
love of God, it behoves us at every time and in every 
scene, to set a guard upon this principle ; but, in a 
scene and at a time in which almost every thing 
around us, tends to induce, to inflame, and to em- 
bolden this principle, it behoves us to be doubly 
vigilant and resolute to restrain its wanderings, and 
to check its growth. 

I will suppose, if you will have it so, that you 
neither are guilty, nor in danger of becoming guilty, 
of any such voluptuous indulgences, as, considered 
singly, and in themselves, are criminal ; yet you 
have no reason to conclude from this, that in respect 
to the love of pleasure, either your temper or your 
conduct is what it ought to be. Though none of 
your pleasurable gratifications, considered singly, 
be criminal either in their nature or in their degree, 
yet, notwithstanding this, your character may still 
be exceedingly inexcusable and unworthy. Jt is 
not merely the criminal gratifications of this passion 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 2,07 

that are inconsistent with the love of God, it can- 
not consist with even a prevailing taste for pleasure. 
Where the desire and the pursuit of pleasure have 
formed and fixed the habits of the mind, there, in 
that mind, there is no room for the love of God. 
Sensuality and levity of spirit, though they should 
be so restricted, by regard to credit, or to interest, 
or by any other principle, as never to break out 
into any flagrant violations of the law of God, are, 
nevertheless, where they constitute the temper of 
the heart, irreconcilable enemies to the genuine love 
of God. — Do not then, my friends, soothe your- 
selves with the thought, that your pleasures are 
neither of the basest nature, nor indulged to an ex- 
travagant degree ; consider what your temper is ; 
what are your prevailing affections ; what are your 
habitual pursuits ? Is pleasure, not spiritual or 
moral, but worldly pleasure of some species or other, 
the idea that first meets you in these several in- 
quiries ? — You are not then uninterested in any ad- 
monition that warns you to beware of the love of 
pleasure. Do not flatter yourselves with the reflec- 
tion, that carnality or levity is not your appropriate 
character. 

A prevailing taste for the gayeties of the world; 
for its entertainments and amusements, though they 
be fashionable; for its games and pastimes, though 
they be much practised, if not in every instance 
equally ruinous, yet is as really incompatible with 
the genuine sentiments of devotion, and with the 
principles of pure and undefined Religion, as that 
carnal mind which you pronounce to be highly ig- 
nominious, and the enjoyments and pursuits of which, 
it may be, are cordially despised by you, or perhaps 
even held in absolute abhorrence. 



208 On the Incompatibility of the Love of 

Would you then wish to Jove God ? Do you 
acknowledge this to be the subject o( the first and 

freat commandment? Do you own it, for what in- 
eed it is, the fundamental principle of ali practical 
Religion ? Do you believe, that they who love not 
God, have nothing to hope for from his friend- 
ship ? Beware of the love of pleasure ? it has a 
natural tendency to deprive you of the purest plea- 
sures of the present life, and at the same time to 
disqualify you for the sublimer happiness of the life 
that is to come. 

What will be the pleasures of the world when 
you are arrived at that hour, beyond which you can 
stay no longer in it ? Such an hour you know will 
come, and you do not know how soon. What think 
you will be the reflections of the carnal mind o;i its 
sensualities, when death is pulling down the fleshly 
tabernacle, and the soul is starting forth into the 
invisible and spiritual world? When it is going into 
the presence, when it is going to the judgment seat 
of God, will its sensualities stand instead of piety ? 
will a life devoted to the pleasures of this world, 
stand instead of a life devoted to the service of God ? 
Will the vain, the giddy, and the gay, they whose 
happiness consists in the amusements of the world, 
and the entertainments of a roving and capricious 
imagination ; will they be happy when all the amuse- 
ments of the world, when all their wonted enter- 
tainments, when flesh and heart, and every earthly 
consolation fails them ? Will they bring their gaye- 
ty along with them into that serious hour ? Will 
their levity attend them through the vale of death, 
and carry them with comfort through the solemni- 
ties of judgment ? Will it recommend them to the 
friendship of their Maker ? Will it entitle them to a 
blessed immortality ? Will it qualify them for the 



Pleasure, with the Love of God. 209 

business and the happiness of heaven, that, with a gay 
unthinking heart, they passed through life, delighted 
with its vanities, unimpressed by its importance, 
inattentive to its business, and careless of its end ? 
Will it cheer them in the solemn season of their dis- 
solution, that in spite of every admonition to bring 
them unto serious thought, and to engage them in the 
proper business of life, their insensibility, giddiness, 
and levity, had still maintained itself uncorrected ? 
Will these be sweet reflections, capable of soothing 
their departing pangs, capable of enlivening the 
gloom of death ? Will they then feel no w T ant of the 
sentiments and hopes of piety? Will they then suf- 
fer nothing, for having permitted the vanities of this 
life to exclude ihe Author of their being from their 
hearts? Whose will be the most tranquil death- 
bed ? Whose will be the most pleasurable immor- 
tality ? His, whose probationary period has been 
wasted on the gayeties and follies of life, or, his, 
who devoted it to the exercise, to the culture, and 
the obedience of the love of God? The man who 
loves this world, will leave this world with reluc- 
tance and with terrour. The man who loves God, 
will go to the God he loves, with pleasure and with 
joy. In the grave, there is no provision for the 
flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof; in the grave, there 
are no objects to entertain a vain imagination. 
What the men of pleasure call pleasure, suffers 
many interruptions from the inevitable afflictions 
of life, and has a certain end, when life ends; and 
here the immortal fruits of it begin, bitter and 
distasteful fruits ! — But the love of God is a source 
of pure and stable satisfaction which afflictions 
need not interrupt, which death cannot end, which 
the life to come will prolong, improve, immortalize, 
and perfect. 



210 On the Incompatibility of the Love, &c. 

Beware then of the love of pleasure ; take heed 
lest it seduce, deceive, and destroy you. Keep 
your hearts with all diligence, since out of them 
are the issues of life. Your affections cannot be 
more worthily fixed than upon him who implanted 
them within you. — " My son," saith God, " give me 
thy heart;" " Thou stialt love the Lord thy God," 
saith the Son of God, " with all thy heart, and soul, 
and ; strength this is the first and great command- 
ment." 



PRAYER. 

O Almighty and most righteous Father — Who 
can understand his errours, cleanse thou us from 
secret faults; keep back thy servants also from 
presumptuous sins, let them not have dominion over 
us, then shall we be upright before thee, and in- 
nocent from the great transgression. Enable us, we 
humbly beseech thee, to be ever on our guard, re- 
solutely to withstand the first approaches of what- 
ever would alienate our affections from thee, or at 
all impede our diligence, zeal, and alacrity in thy 
service ! 

We thank thee that thou hast given us a law, ex- 
emplified in the life of our blessed Lord, to be a 
light unto our feet and a lamp unto our paths. 
May it sink deep into our hearts, ever maintain- 
ing the dominion there, till at length, through thine 
infinite mercy, we arrive in the land of everlasting 
uprightness : — there, may we celebrate an eternal 
triumph over sin, and sorrow, and infirmity, and 
satisfied with thy likeness, be for ever happy in thy 
heavenly presence ! 



DISCOURSE XII. 



CHARACTERISTICS OF THOSE, WHO ARE GO 
VERNED BY THE LOVE OF PLEASURE. 



II. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, ill. 4. 

Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 

Having already endeavoured to evince that there 
is a real opposition between that love of pleasure 
condemned by our Apostle, and the love of God ; 
the importance of the subject seems to require, in 
order to assist you in the great duty of self examina- 
tion, that we should specify some marks or signa- 
tures of that character, in which the love of pleasure 
so fatally prevails. Those marks of it which are 
most obvious, we shall merely enumerate, dilating 
upon such only, as may not at first sight appear to 
be so directly opposed to the love of God. 

If, then, to gratify your love of pleasure, you vio- 
late the commands of God : — If, through the influ- 
ence of the same principle, you neglect to do what 
he requires of you : — If, in gratifying your love of 
pleasure, you disqualify yourselves for the practice 
of your duty ; you most assuredly fall under the 
censure of the text. — Moreover, 

If, though your pleasures are not a violation of the 
law of God, though they do not exclude it from your 



212 Characteristicks of those who are 

regard, nor disqualify you for jour duty ; yet, if you 
believe that they are unlawful, and pursue them 
still; or, if you believe that the measures in which 
you are accustomed to indulge yourselves in them 
are unlawful ; or, that the means is so by which you 
obtain that indulgence, and stiil persist to proceed 
such lengths, and to seek it by such means ; it is 
not easy to discover, how you can elude the change, 
of being lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of God. 
Again, 

If, though you are not quite certain, yet if you 
suspect that your pleasures are unlawful ; or that 
the length to which you pursue them is so ; or that 
the means by which you seek after them is unlawful; 
and yet, uninfluenced by this suspicion, you neither 
change your conduct, nor satisfy yourselves concern- 
ing it, you are lovers of pleasure, more than lovers 
of God. 

But, passing these observations, as being so obvi- 
ous as to require only to be stated to obtain general 
assent, we now proceed to those remarks, on which 
we proposed to dilate, in order more powerfully to 
prove their validity. And first, 

If through the love of pleasure you neglect the 
business of life, you cannot doubt about your charac- 
ter, for the business of life is a part of the work 
which God hath given you to do; and if you loved 
the master above every other object, with all your 
heart, and soul, and mind, and strength, could you 
indulge any such extravagant desires after the vain 
amusements or the sensual enjoyments of the world, 
as should tempt you to neglect his work ? Wherever 
true ideas of the business of life are entertained, 
that business will not, from any motive, be neg- 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 213 

lected, so long as the heart is governed by the love 
of God. 

Look around you, take a serious survey of human 
life, observe the necessities to which man is subject, 
the labours to which he is compelled, the sufferings 
to which he is exposed, the obligations by which he 
is bound, and from which he cannot by any argu- 
ments persuade himself that he is released ; consider 
what the conduct is to which he is prompted, and 
what are the issues of conforming to the impulses of 
nature, or of conscience, or of resisting them, and 
then say, what you think of this present state ; is ft a 
scene of pleasure, or a school of discipline ? — Was it 
meant for a state of idleness, dissipation, and self- 
indulgence ? or, is our term of life a term of service, 
in which it is expected that we should be diligent in 
business, faithful to our own best interests, and 
useful unto all who are within the reach of our 
beneficence ? Were we sent into this world to enjoy 
its pleasures, or to improve its opportunities ? Are 
our powers and faculties proportioned only to our 
present state, and incapable of being exalted into 
any thing above it ? Is the gratification of sensual 
appetite, or of a vain imagination, the great end and 
object of our existence ? Is this in every man's 
power ? Would any man approve himself, if he 
aimed at nothing more excellent than this ? Is this 
the end to which every other thing is to be made 
subservient? — to which every other interest is to be 
sacrificed ? Does it import us nothing what we have 
done in this world, and what character we have 
formed when we go out of it, provided we have 
been amused, and entertained, and gratified, during 
our stay in it ? W r as it the primary intention of God, 
in sending us into this world, that we should give 
the rein to every importunate desire, or that we 

17 



214 Characteristicks of those, who are 

should be formed to virtue ? Which of these is it 
that he recommends to us as the first object of our 
endeavours and pursuits, and in which of these 
views is it that he requires our cooperation ? If the 
object of God, in sending us into this world, was 
our complete enjoyment of it, how comes it to pass, 
that this object is not, never has been^ and probably 
never will be attained in any one instance ? If it 
was not his chief intention to form us to virtue, to 
all good habits, and to all moral excellence, whence 
comes it to pass, that there is no state, no circum- 
stance, no single occurrence of the present life, that 
is not capable of being applied by us to the improve- 
ment of our own characters ? If it cannot be believ- 
ed, that in making man, and administering to him 
his various circumstances, it was the ultimate design 
of God, that he should spend a few short years in 
pleasure ; then it follows, that he has some business 
in this world ; that every man's peculiar business lies 
in that sphere in which the providence of God has 
appointed him to move, and that the proper business 
of his station, is, in truth, the work of God. — And 
can any man love God and neglect that work, to 
gratify himself? 

If the magistrate were pursuing his pleasures, 
while the injured and oppressed were imploring in 
vain for justice at his gates; if the parents of a family 
were pursuing their pleasures, whilst their children 
wanted bread, or, although they should be provided 
with the necessaries of life, whilst they needed to be 
formed to useful knowledge, to prudent and virtuous 
habits ; whilst they were in want of example to 
encourage, as well as of precept to direct ihem ; 
what would you think of these parents, or of that 
magistrate ? If any man, indifferent about his tem- 
per, his conduct, his usefulness, and the prosperity 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 215 

of his own soul, should desert the proper business 
of his station to go in quest of entertainment ; if 
this were a constant habit, if this were a frequent 
practice, what would you think of that man ? Could 
jou believe that the love of God dwelt in him ? 
that this was his ruling principle ; that he loved 
the work which God hath given him to do? You 
could not hesitate in making the contrary decision. 
You could not for a moment doubt but that this 
man, that magistrate, and those parents, were lovers 
of pleasure, more than lovers of God. 

But there are some, perhaps, who will be ready 
to allege, that they have no business, no appropri- 
ate work. If it be so, their circumstances must be 
very singular, and exceedingly deplorable. If you 
have no work, you have no talents, you have no ex- 
ternal possessions by which any living creature can 
be benefited; you have no knowledge which may 
be serviceable either to yourselves or others, and 
you are incapable of attaining to such knowledge, 
or of acquiring such possessions ; you have no facul- 
ties that can be improved ; none that can be useful- 
ly applied ; your reason is extinct, your moral life 
is at an end, and your character is sealed up unto 
the great day of account. — But how consist these 
things with the ability to make this an apology for 
having made a business of pleasure ? What, though 
it be not necessary that you should labour for your 
own support, or for the support of those who are 
dependent onyou, are there none to be found who 
stand in need of your relief, your consolation, or your 
assistance? Are there none who want admonition, 
to whom your instruction might be useful, your 
counsels acceptable? Are there none who might be 
the better for such encouragement as you could 
give them ; who would be thankful for any testi- 



216 Characteristicks of those, who are 

mony of your esteem and friendship ? Are there 
none whose spirits you might cheer, whose hearts 
you might revive, whose darkness you might en- 
lighten, whose troubles you might mitigate, whose 
happiness you might augment, whose follies you 
might restrain, whose virtues you might animate, 
whose labours you might alleviate, whose usefulness 
you might extend ? In such a world as this, can you 
look around you, and not meet with objects and op- 
portunities to find employment for you beneficence ? 
You cannot go far, if your eyes be not so intent 
upon pleasure, that you see or observe them not, 
before they will rise up and present themselves unto 
you. 

But, let the supposition (improbable, or rather 
impossible as it is) be admitted, that there is no- 
thing wanting, nothing due from you to others ; is 
there nothing wanting, nothing due unto yourselves ? 
have you no work to be done at home ? is every thin 
within your own breasts in that exact order in whic 
it ought to be ? is every thing there in such perfec- 
tion as it might be ? If you think so, you will have 
enough to do to undeceive yourselves, and to acquire 
a just acquaintance with your obligations and your 
character: — if you think otherwise, with what coun- 
tenance can you plead, though it were to your own 
heart only, that there remained nothing to be done 
by you in this world, but to pursue your pleasures 
and amusements? If you have been accustomed to 
conceive, that they who have no need of worldly 
occupation to procure for themselves the means of 
subsistence, are at liberty to give themselves up to 
the pursuit of any pleasures, that are not in them- 
selves infamous and criminal, it will require no little 
time, and no little pains to correct so false and dan- 
gerous an idea of human life, and human obligations. 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 21 7 

There is no living man, if he has not survived his 
reason and his conscience, to whom there remains 
not some work, some duty, some indispensable duty, 
to be done. Is it then any argument of your love 
to God, that you neglect that duty, that your lives 
are devoted to pleasure, that you live carelessly, 
that you are lovers of your ownselves ? 

In the second place, If the love of pleasure so far 
prevails, as to render you discontented with the 
condition and circumstances that God hath assigned 
you, although the pleasures in themselves are all 
lawful pleasures, just in their means, and moderate 
in their measure, as well as innocent in their na- 
ture, you are lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of 
God. 

But, it may be asked, can the love of pleasure, 
can a lively relish of the world and its enjoyments, 
produce fruits so austere and ungrateful, as the sen- 
timents of fretfulness and discontent ? Can such 
vexatious passions find admittance and entertain- 
ment in the heart, where the love of pleasure 
reigns ? — Why, tell me Christians, do the men of 
pleasure always seem perfectly contented with their 
condition ? — A cheerful complacency in appointed 
circumstances, a patient acquiescence in the lot as- 
signed, are these the inseparable concomitants of the 
love of pleasure ? are these in general the charac- 
teristicks of the men of pleasure ? Look into the 
world ; is the continual endeavour, the eager strug- 
gle, the various, and oftentimes the dishonourable 
expedients that are employed to enlarge their cir- 
cumstances, that they may give a looser rein unto 
their pleasures, are these the symptoms of a heart 
contented and at ease, acquiescing in its circumstan- 
ces, and well pleased with its condition ? If it were 



218 Character isticks of those, who are 

not for the love of pleasure, " the lusts of the flesh, 
the lusts of the eve, and the pride of life," should 
we see so much of that restless and aspiring spirit 
which urges all the various orders of men to press 
upwards into the ranks of those who stand above 
them? which animates them so constantly to watch 
every opportunity, use every interest, and employ 
every art to extend their influence, improve their 
figure, and enlarge their possessions ? What is it 
that excites this keen desire, that prompts these 
strenuous endeavours ? What is it that gives such 
vivacity to their admiration, or their wishes, when 
they look up to the condition of those who stand 
higher in the world ? Has the love of pleasure no 
share in the production of these effects ? if other 
causes do concur, yet is not this the very root of the 
evil ? Is it not the indulgence of themselves, the 
more perfect, the more extensive, or the more ele- 
gant gratification of their appetites, or of their 
imaginations, that these men aspire after, in their 
eager strife to enlarge their worldly circumstances? 
Is it not this that makes them regard with envy 
every superiour condition, and that renders them 
uneasy in their own ? Confine your desires within 
the limits that reason and religion have prescribed, 
and there will be little danger that your hearts 
should ever become a prey to the corrosive senti- 
ments of envy and discontent. But, let the love 
of pleasure usurp the dominion ; give the reigns to 
this pernicious principle ; let appetite or imagination 
govern you, and it probably will not be long that 
your hearts will remain contented with your condi- 
tion ; your ability must be great indeed, to satisfy 
the demands of such insatiable and capricious go- 
vernours : — it will not then be enough, that, in your 
frame, both the animal and angelick natures are 
united ; it wili not be enough that your Creator hath 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 219 

spread around you innumerable scenes of comfort 
and of joy. When once you have departed from 
the line of nature, and transgressed the bounds of 
reason, another blessing and another may be added, 
your insatiable desires will not be satisfied, till no- 
thing more be left that can be given, till they have 
stripped every other being in the universe of its 
possessions, and placed you on the throne of the 
most high. — Vain man ! whilst devoted to the ser- 
vice of such masters, canst thou be at peace, re- 
signed to thy situation, thinking well of it, as that 
which divine wisdom hath made choice of for thy 
good ? or, whilst impiously arraigning the appoint- 
ments of his providence, canst thou pretend that 
the love of God is the ruling affection of thy heart ? 
— Is not a cheerful complacency in the circum- 
stances in which God hath placed us, among the 
certain fruits of that blessed affection ? 

Tell me, ye who are discontented with your 
condition, whence that discontentment springs ? In- 
quire into the causes of it ; in different instances, 
these may be different; but in every instance, I am 
well persuaded, this one great reason will occur, 

you are not governed by the love of God. When 

is it, Christians, that this divine affection is least 
lively and least active ? Is it not when you have 
been giving way to such reflections on the present 
state of man, or on your own particular circum- 
stances, as have encouraged the sentiments of dis- 
content to take possession of your hearts? When 
is it that your hearts are most susceptible of the 
love of God? Is it not at those happy seasons, when 
you see most clearly what reason you have to be 
satisfied with this present state, and with your own 
particular allotment in it ? and if this be so, what 
doubt can there remain, that there is a natural and 
necessary connexion between the love of God on 



220 Characteristicks of those, who are 

the one hand, and a contented acquiescence in our 
circumstances, on the other ? — " My God, though I 
know a little, yet am I greatly ignorant of the 
connexions, that I, and that every thing that re- 
spects me has, with that mighty system of beings, 
in the midst of which I find myself. I am igno- 
rant of the consequences which my present circum- 
stances may produce, but in this I am very happy, 
that none of all these things are unknown to thee, 
and I am well persuaded, that the God whom I 
serve, is love. Dark and narrow as my views are, 
what an enemy might I, yea what an enemy must 
I have been to those I love, and to myself, had I 
been the disposer of my own circumstances? — I re- 
joice that they are not of my own choosing, but of 
thine. It may happen, it does happen, that there 
are those things in them, which, for the present, 
are not joyous but grievous; yet this, my God, can- 
not prevent my complacency in thine appointments, 
nor cool my affection unto thee ! Whatever may be 
the first impressions of thy dispensations towards 
me, I am well persuaded that the fruits and con- 
sequences of them are intended for good ; that they 
may be good, and will be good, to myself, and to 
all who are connected with me. I rejoice there- 
fore, O my God, in all thy appointments; I envy 
no other station ; my wishes stray not, and they 
shall not stray beyond thy will ; for I know that 
what thou appointest to me is best." 

Is not this, my friends, the genuine language of 
the love of God ? You know it is ; but how diffe- 
rent from this is the language and sentiment of dis- 
satisfaction and discontent? — " Thy sovereignty, 
Lord, I must acknowledge ; I dare not dispute thy 
title to dispose of me and my affairs. But how 
many things there are, that would be good for me. 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 221 

which thou hast denied ! And how many things do 
I labour under, from which it would be kind in 
thee to deliver me without delay ! Thou hast en- 
abled me to discern between the things that differ, 
and inclined me to prefer those that are most ex- 
cellent ; give me then the powers that correspond 
with this ability, or, let thy power and providence 
be directed according to my wishes and desires." — 
Is not this the natural language of discontent ? You 
do not think it too highly coloured ; you do not 
think I have done that character an injury ; but 
would it not be an injury to impute such senti- 
ments to the love of God ? — Attend to the cha- 
racter of your Lord and Master, in whom the 
sentiments of love to his heavenly Father, though 
so lively and fervent, were not more sincere or more 
powerful, than his resignation to the will of God, 
and his complacency in the divine appointments. 
" The cup that my Father hath given me, shall I 
not drink it ? — Thy will, not mine be done !" — If 
such were the language of his soul in circumstances 
of the deepest distress, and acutest suffering, what 
then, Christians, ought to be yours ? Does it not 
follow, that since contentment with our condition 
is the natural effect of the sentiments and affections 
that we owe unto God, the author of our frame, and 
the disposer of our circumstances ; if, through the 
influence of any principle whatever, we become dis- 
contented with what we are and have, the love of 
God has not so much power over us, as that prin- 
ciple ? and if the principle from which our dis- 
content proceeds, be the love of pleasure, then are 
we lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of God ? 



18 



222 Character (sticks of those, who are, &c. 



PRAYER. 

Deeply sensible of the importance of thy favour, 
O thou Almighty and ever living God, we would be 
anxiously solicitous to keep ourselves at the great- 
est distance from any of those scenes, pursuits, or 
engagements which might alienate our affections 
from thee, or at all impair our diligence, zeal, and 
alacrity, in performing the work which thou hast 
given us to do ! Warned by the gracious admoni- 
tions of thy holy word, may we flee from the wrath 
that is to come ; and animated by the exceeding 

freat and precious promises it contains, may it 
enceforth be our supreme solicitude to perfect 
holiness, in thy fear ! In all piety to thee our God, 
in all charity to man, in the good government of our 
own hearts and minds, in purity, in patience, in 
meekness and humility, in contentment, and in all 
the graces and virtues that compose the Christian 
spirit, may we continue and abound still more and 
more. 

In the day of our prosperity we will rejoice in 
thee, as the Author of all our comforts and our 
hopes — we will bless and praise thee with a pure 
heart fervently ! — In the day of adversity, we will 
consider; we will humbly inquire what may be 
the intention of thy visitations towards us.- — We will 
meditate on thy loving kindnesses which have been 
ever of old ; we will call to mind our former delive- 
rances ; and though our hearts should be cast down, 
and our souls disquieted within us, still will we 
hope in God, assuredly trusting that we shall yet 
praise him, who is the health of our countenance 
and our God ! 



DISCOURSE XIII. 



CHARACTERISTICKS OF THOSE, WHO ARE GO 
VERNED BY THE LOVE OF PLEASURE. 



PART II. 



II. EPIST. TO TIMOTHY, 111. 4. 

Lovers of Pleasure, more than lovers of God. 

In order to assist the serious inquirer, really desirous 
of forming a just estimate of his own character, we 
endeavoured in a former Discourse to point out 
some of those marks or signatures of that love of 
pleasure which is inconsistent with the love of God : 
and we now proceed, in the first place, to a short 
examination of what are called the instrumental 
duties of religion, their nature and object ; and 
secondly to show, that if these are neglected for 
the sake of pleasure, another argument hence arises, 
that in us the love of pleasure is stronger than the 
love of God. 

The instrumental duties of religion then are 
those, upon which the formalist, who is more 
concerned about the credit of his piety than the 
truth of it, lays the greatest stress ; and which he, 
who affects a superiour greatness and freedom of 
mind, exempt from vulgar prejudices and super- 
stitions, is very apt to depreciate and despise. 



224 Ckaracteristicks of those, who are 

They are those duties by which we may be im- 
proved in religious knowledge, by which the 
spirit and temper of real piety is assisted and pro- 
moted ; by which we are confirmed in virtuous 
resolutions, encouraged to cultivate good affec- 
tions, and excited to persevere and abound in all 
good works. A good heart and life, being the es- 
sentials of religion, the primary object of all religious 
dispensations; — of all religious ceremonies and insti- 
tutions; for this reason, all those religious services 
and institutions, which contribute to this end, to 
sanctify the hearts and lives of men, are denominated 
instrumental duties. They are not duties of the 
highest order, and in whatever instances both can- 
not be discharged, instrumental duties must give 
way to those more important obligations to which 
they look as their object and end. However, though 
not duties of the highest order, they are duties not- 
withstanding; and the obligations to observe them 
remain in full force, whenever those that are superi- 
our do not exclusively require our attention. 

But it is not merely for their tendency and influ- 
ence that the obligation of these duties is derived ; 
we are bound to observe them, it is true, because 
they tend to raise us to the perfection of our nature, 
and to promote the great end of our existence ; but, 
though they had no such tendency that we could 
perceive, would any man affirm that we were at liber- 
ty, as we might choose, to worship God, or to neg- 
lect him; to converse with the word of God, or to 
reject it ? and to attend on the institutions of reli- 
gion, or to forsake them ? Can the heart, which is 
as it ought to be, under the power of those good 
affections in which true holiness consists, can that 
heart neglect the institutions of religion, forget the 
word of God, or forbear the worship of its Maker ? 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 225 

A just attention to the instrumental duties of religion, 
is a natural and irrestrainable expression of real, 
genuine, and substantial godliness ; nor are there 
any of its duties that are not, in their general nature 
at least, in themselves obligatory. As on the one 
hand, there is not an instance in the higher order of 
duties, but, while it is in the highest degree obligato- 
ry in itself, is at the same time also an instrumental 
duty in respect of others which must be combined 
with it to make a perfect human character; so, 
neither on the other hand, are there any instances 
among the duties of inferiour order, but, while 
they are instrumental in respect of other duties, are 
at the same time obligatory in themselves. — The 
love of God is a duty of the highest order, the obli- 
gations to which can never in any instance be super- 
seded ; and yet the love of God may with great 
propriety be considered as an instrumental duty, 
in respect to the love we owe to all his creatures; 
for, does not the love of the Father tend to ex- 
cite, and cherish, and enliven, our affection to his 
children ? 

So again, the love of our neighbour, which is 
itself a duty of the highest order, the obligation 
to which cannot be dissolved, may it not also with 
very great propriety be considered as an instru- 
mental duty, in respect to the love of God ? for does 
not the love of his creation tend to enkindle our 
devout affections towards the Creator ? The greater 
interest we have in the welfare of his subjects, will 
not our joy in his government, and our admiration of 
his character, be the greater? The higher our de- 
light in the happiness which they enjoy, the more 
lively will be our affection unto him, from whom it 
comes. In like manner, of those that are distingished 
as instrumental duties of religion, there is scarcely 



226 Charaderisticks of those, who are 

one that is not obligatory in itself, abstracting from 
all consideration of its influence and of its tendencies: 
there is not one, but what is either the genuine re- 
sult, and the natural concomitant of those good 
affections, in which true holiness consists ; or is 
bound upon us by the express authority of God ; or 
is a tribute of reverence and honour that would be 
due from us to him, even though, in respect either 
of our character or our happiness, we had no inte- 
rest in paying it. They tend indeed to make us 
better men, but were it true, that in other respects 
we could arrive at the same degree of excellence, to 
which a just attention to these duties would pro- 
mote us, yet, without a just attention to them, our 
characters would not be faultless and complete. 
Though praises and thanksgivings ; though adora- 
tions, supplications, and confessions; though a fre- 
quent and reverent attention to the discoveries 
which God hath made unto us, of himself, his go- 
vernment, and purposes, had no efficacy in them to im- 
prove our hearts and minds ; to form us to the divine 
likeness; to quicken us in all the duties of this pre- 
sent life, and to promote our meetness for the spiri- 
tual enjoyments of a better life to come ; they would, 
notwithstanding, remain for ever, as long as our cir- 
cumstances and relations are the same, a decent, 
reasonable, and indispensable acknowledgment of 
God's excellencies and mercies; and of our own 
guilt, weakness, and dependence. 

If, then, the instrumental duties of religion have 
the authority of God, and, at the same time, their 
own innate reasonableness, as well as great utility, 
to recommend them, who would depreciate the 
instrumental duties of religion ? The number to 
which they have been vainly multiplied ; the 
foreign circumstances with which they have been 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 227 

presumptuously combined ; the extravagance with 
which they have been magnified ; the unwar- 
rantable confidence which the superstitious have 
been taught to place in them ; and the unrea- 
sonable expectations from them which they have 
been encouraged to entertain, have contributed, 
it may be, to sink them too low in the esteem 
of many, who, in other respects think more liberal- 
ly, and upon the whole perhaps, more justly, of re- 
ligion. 

The name also by which they have been distin- 
guished, may probably be another cause of the 
injustice that has been done them : they have been 
regarded as merely instrumental, as deriving all 
their value from the end to which they lead, and 
all their obligation from the obligation of that end ; 
and on these principles, in the endeavour to obtain 
for true religion a perfect triumph over superstition, 
they have been denied the honour which is justly 
their due, and degraded into the class of those 
things, which, abstracted from their connexions and 
influences, are in themselves of no real worth ; 
whereas in fact, as you have already seen, if, what 
are called the instrumental duties of religion, are in 
one view the means of holiness, they are, in another 
view, a part of true holiness itself. 

But, suppose it were the fact, that the instru- 
mental duties of religion were nothing more than 
the appropriate means of acquiring, maintaining, 
and improving, that temper and character in 
which God delighteth, and which he hath re- 
quired of us as the condition of bis friendship 
and acceptance ; admitting this, can the man 
whom pleasure calls away from the observance 
of them, be really governed by the love of God? 



228 Char act eristicks of those, who are 

or, if pleasure does not call him from them, yet 
if it be suffered to disqualify him for the accep- 
table and the profitable discharge of these duties, 
is that man governed by the love of God ? If he 
love God he would desire to be like God, he would 
be solicitous to please him, he would seek his favour 
with his whole heart. Without holiness, no man 
can see God ; without holiness, no man can be like 
God; without holiness, no man can please God; 
if he love God, who is glorious in holiness, he will 
love holiness itself; if he aspire after the divine fa- 
vour, he will follow after holiness ; and following 
after holiness, as his chief desire, and his highe&t 
interest, could he be tempted to neglect the means 
that must bring him thither ? Anxious about the end, 
would he neglect the means ? Would he be unsoli- 
citous to employ the means of attaining to this ex- 
cellence, or to employ them in such manner as should 
promise the most ample success ? Whatever may 
be the cause of this neglect, is most evidently the 
object which he prefers to God. If pleasure be 
the cause, pleasure is that object ; and the man, on 
whom pleasure can prevail, to neglect the instrumen- 
tal duties of religion, is a lover of pleasure, more 
than a lover of God. If he be not satisfied with 
this evidence of so unacceptable a truth, it is pro- 
bable that it will not be very long before he will 
have other evidences ; for it is not likely, that the 
man who is at present guilty of neglecting the in- 
strumental duties of religion, if he persevere in that 
neglect, will continue to persevere in those ways 
of wisdom to which they lead. The pleasures 
which have now sufficient power to persuade him 
to forsake the means, will, ere long, have sufficient 
power to render him indifferent about the end. 

If you neglect the means of acquiring knowledge, 
no man expects that you will ever become wise ; if 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 229 

you neglect the means of acquiring wealth, no man 
expects that you will ever be rich : if, in this world 
of dangers, you neglect the means of preserving 
health, it cannot be hoped that you will preserve it 
long; neither can it be hoped, in this world of snares 
and temptations, that you will preserve your virtue 
long, if you neglect the instrumental duties of re- 
ligion. — What think you of the inference that may 
reasonably be made from that neglect at present ? 
how like you the prospect it affords, in respect to 
the time to come ? 

In the morning, when the good man is at his de- 
votions, where are you ? Surely you do not begin 
the day with sensuality or vanity; from morning 
until night you do not devote it unto pleasure. No, 
it begins at feast, with business. With what business ? 
with such as has the enlargement of your worldly- 
pleasures for its object, and the hope and anticipa- 
tion of that enlargement for the solace of its la- 
bours? If the day begin thus, how does it end ? 
in unedifying company, in vain amusements, in licen- 
tious entertainments? or, if perchance your narrow- 
ness of fortune has debarred you from these plea- 
sures, does it terminate in fretful, envious, and re- 
gretful thoughts about them ? Are these the avoca- 
tions that keep you from your devotions ? or, if 
they have not absolutely this power, do they send 
you to your closets in a state of such dissipation, 
insensibility, and dulness, as to convert a scene, so 
capable of yielding you the sublimest enjoyments, 
and the most important benefits, into a tedious, irk- 
some, and unprofitable ceremony ? If it be so with 
you, what think ye of yourselves? — are ye Chris- 
tians indeed, or in name only ? imitators of Christ 
in reality, or merely in profession ? lovers of God, 
or lovers of pleasure more ? 

19 



230 Characteristicks of those, who are 

While the good man, retired from the world, is 
conversing with those oracles of God that are able 
to make him wise unto salvation, with what are 
you conversing ? what is it that employs your lei- 
sure ? what is it that amuses your retirements ? Is 
it the oracles of human folly? the oracles of mo- 
dern licentiousness ? Those vain and trifling pro- 
ductions of a vain and trifling age, whose best effect 
is to amuse the passing hour, but whose influence 
stops not there, since they seldom fail to suggest the 
most unjust ideas of human life, and of Divine Pro- 
vidence, and to awaken the most dangerous, if not 
the most criminal affections of the human heart; is 
it so with you? Are these the entertainments that, 
from day to day, are robbing your immortal spirits 
of the bread of life ? the, entertainments that keep 
the word of God out of your hand ? the entertain- 
ments that concur with your secular employments 
to leave you no time to form your souls to the 
relish of spiritual enjoyments? What think ye 
of yourselves ? are you as reasonable as you affect 
to be ? as much Christians as you would be thought 
to be ? are you lovers of God, or lovers of pleasure 
more ? 

Sometimes, it may be, you do retire from the 
world, and in that retirement, it may happen, that 
you have nothing to employ you more agreeably* 
than your own thoughts. On what is it that they 
fix themselves ? what is it that directs and governs 
them ? do they ever glance upon your own charac- 
ter? if they do, do they ever dwell there? Are 
they guided by reason, or imagination ? are they 
steered by any serious purpose of amendment or 
advantage, or merely committed to the gales of fan- 
cy for the present purpose of amusement, and turn- 
ed adrift to go wherever inclination carries them? 
Are they employed in recalling, in anticipating, in 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 231 

picturing some scene of external pleasure, or world- 
ly entertainment? Are these the thoughts that pre- 
clude the stud) of jour real characters from jour 
attention, and hide you from the observation of jour 
own minds? Are these the thoughts that engross 
the sacred moments which ought to be employed in 
communing with jour hearts, in considering jour 
ways, in rectifying what is amiss in them, and in 
confirming what is right? Is this the case with jou ? 
what think je of jourselves? is the favour of God 
jour supreme concern ? is the likeness of God the 
chief object of jour solicitude ? are jou lovers of 
God, or lovers of pleasure more ? 

You are not among the number of those who 
make the daj of God a daj of pleasure, who rest 
from the works of this world, for no other end, than 
to devote themselves to its amusements. When I 
look for jou in this house of God, there are not 
manj of jou whom I am accustomed to find want- 
ing here. But think, my friends, what are the dis- 
positions with which you come hither ? Do you 
come with your minds fatigued, or your thoughts 
dissipated, by your last night's pleasures and amuse- 
ments? or with your hearts full of the entertain- 
ments you are to return to on the morrow? While 
you stand here as worshippers of God, are your 
hearts really worshipping some idol of worldly plea- 
sure? While you sit here, as God's people sitteth, 
apparently attending to the dispensing of his word, 
are your thoughts roving into other scenes, and in 
quest of such entertainment as shall enable you to 
support the tedious hours that you spend here ? 
When you go hence, do you reckon the duties of 
the day discharged, and instead of consecrating the 
remainder to reflection and devotion, do you give it 
unto pleasure ? Do you come hither to atone, as 



232 Characteristicks of those, who are 

you imagine, for a custom with which you are not 
perfectly satisfied, and to which you could not 
otherwise reconcile your minds of postponing all 
thoughts of God oh every other day, to every 
other object? Do you come hither not to be edi- 
fied, but amused ? Do you come hither with no 
higher wish than to be entertained for the time 
you spend here ? If you find that you must in- 
deed answer in the affirmative to any of these in- 
terrogatories, let me prevail with you, for once, to 
keep the answer of your consciences in view, and, 
when you go hence, to ask yourselves, in the re- 
tirements of this day, another question, viz. Are 
yoii really godly, or do you only wear the form of 
godliness ? Are you lovers of God, or lovers of 
pleasure more ? 

My friends, you have much to do with God ; 
yourselves and every thing in which you have any 
interest, are absolutely in his hands. You have far 
more important transactions with him that any that 
you are conscious of in this world ; it will not be 
very long before the youngest of this audience will 
find it so. The time will come, I could tell the day 
beyond which it will not be deferred, but the day 
before which it will not come, I cannot tell; the 
time will come, when you will find this world van- 
ishing away, and another opening upon you, this 
world of trial ending for ever unto you, and a sense 
of everlasting recompense commencing. You know 
as well as I do, would to God that you would let 
the idea sink deep into your hearts, that the round 
of this world's pleasures will not last for ever. The 
rose will fade, the eyes grow dim, and the heart 
grow faint, and all that is of this world become in- 
capable of administering, even a momentary cordial 
or amusement. You know as well as I do, would 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 233 

to God that you would let the thought take pos- 
session of your souls ! that the time will come 
when the warmest appetites will be cold, when 
the acutest senses will be dull, when the liveliest 
fancy will be languid, when the giddiest sinner will 
be serious, and the drowsiest conscience awake. 
The time will come, of which your preachers have 
so often Warned you, when your bodies shall be un- 
distinguishable from the dust that flies before the 
wind, and when that dust shall have as much in- 
terest in the gayeties and sensualities of those upon 
whom it falls, as you ! Long before that time ar- 
rives, the day may come upon you, when, on a 
dying bed, while you watch for the moment that is 
to stop that beating heart, you shall look back 
upon the life that you have spent, and forward in- 
to the eternity that is to receive you. In that 
awful season, whence will you derive your com- 
fort ? to whom will you apply yourselves — to plea- 
sure, or to God? I have seen devotion triumph in 
the arms of death, but you need not wait until that 
awful period, to be perfectly persuaded, that plea- 
sure cannot triumph there. It is not the remem- 
brance, that you have loved pleasure more than 
God, that can give you confidence when you are 
entering into his presence : it is not this conviction 
that can comfort your attending friends : if you love 
them, if you love your own souls, let God have 
your first attentions, let your duty regulate your 
pleasures. 

The considerations that have been addressed to 
you, are considerations by which you ought to be 
impressed — you think so yourselves. Some of you, 
perhaps, are impressed by them. Cherish the im- 
pression. No artifice has been employed to fix any 
false impression on you. It is the simple truth that 



234 Characteristicks of those, who are 

has been set before you, you will find it to have 
been such, ere long. Carry the ideas, carry the 
sentiments that have been suggested to you, into 
every scene of pleasure into which you go; that 
you may never at any time be affected by such 
scenes, otherwise than you ought to be affected ; 
that your pleasures may never be of any other 
kind, or of any other measure, of repetition, or con- 
currence, than is innocent and laudable; but being 
perfectly consistent with the spirit of devotion, and 
with all that the Lord your God requires of you, 
while you live may be pursued without remorse or 
suspicion, and, when you die, reflected on without 
apprehension or regret. 



PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty — we would not dare 
to come into thy presence, or to cast ourselves at 
thy footstool, but in the exercise of reverence and 
godly fear. When we stand before our Maker, we 
would be clothed with humility, and sunk into the 
deepest sentiments of self abasement. Thine eye 
penetrates into the inmost recesses of the soul, thou 
searchest the heart, and triest the reins of thy 
worshippers, even the heavens are not clean in thy 
sight, and thou chargest thine Angels with folly. 
What then is man, that thou shouldst be mindful 
of him, or what the son of man, that he should hope 
for thine acceptance of his services ? We do not 
hope, by any services of ours, however serious, de- 
vout, or faithful, to add any thing unto thee, for 
thou, O Lord, art infinitely exalted above all adora- 
tion, blessing, and praise ! Our desire and hope is, 
that by these means we may attain to thy likeness 
and thy favour ; and, that, by our attendance on the 



governed by the Love of Pleasure. 235 

ordinances of thine earthly courts, we may be quali- 
fied for the services of that nobler temple into which 
nothing enters that defiles! This thou hast encour- 
aged us to expect from our devout approaches to 
thee, and aspiring after these blessings, which we 
esteem as our highest privilege, we thank thee 
that it is permitted us to pour out our hearts be- 
fore thee. 

May no allurements of this world ever tempt us 
to forsake or to neglect the assembling of ourselves 
together in acts of religious worship ; and may it 
be ever our sincere desire and steady resolution to 
bring forth fruits meet unto repentance ; meet for 
the invaluable privileges which in the gospel we 
enjoy; and do thou, O God, strengthen us with 
strength in our souls, prosper our endeavours to 
walk worthy of the Lord, unto all well pleasing, 
and to stand in all thy statutes and thine ordinances 
blameless. 



DISCOURSE XIV. 



ON THE APPEARANCE OF CHRIST, AFTER HIS 
RESURRECTION, TO MARY MAGDALENE. 



PART I. 



John xx. 11 17. 

But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping : and as she wept 
she stooped down and looked into the sepulchre, 12. And seeth two 
Angels in white, sitting the one at the head, and the other at the 
feet, where the body of Jesus had lain : 13. And they said unto her, 
why weepest thou ? She said unto them, because they have taken 
away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him. 14. 
And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw 
Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. 15. Jesus said unto 
her, Woman, why weepest thou ? Whom seekest thou ? She, sup- 
posing him to have been the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou 
have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will 
take him away. 16. Jesus said unto her, Mary! She turned her- 
self and said unto him, Rabboni ! Which is to say, Master. 

These words we find in the history of Christ's re- 
surrection. However marvellous that event was in 
itself, yet the circumstances in which it is describ- 
ed are so natural and probable, and the narration of 
it so plain and simple, that these things will avail 
more to procure it the attention and the belief of 
every reasonable mind, than a thousand artificial 
difficulties or sophistical objections to undermine 



On the Appearance of Christ, &c. 23f 

its credibility. As this part of the history is not the 
least beautiful, and as it appears neither barren of 
serious reflection, nor incapable of moral application, 
I have chosen it for the subject of these Discourses. 
Let us, therefore, review it more particularly, open- 
ing the ideas, and intermingling such observations, as 
may tend at the same time to fix and enliven our 
conceptions of the fact; to illustrate the sense and 
sentiments of the passage, or to point out the uses 
to which it may be applied. 

Two days had now passed since those pious wo- 
men, who followed Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem, 
had attended the mournful scene of his crucifixion, 
and had left the body of their Lord in the Arima- 
thean's tomb. The sabbath interrupted those tes- 
timonies of respect, which they owed to the re- 
mains of a friend so highly honoured, and so much 
beloved. When the sabbath was elapsed, and it 
was now lawful for them to proceed in their pre- 
parations to embalm the body, early in the follow- 
ing morning, Mary Magdalene, with the other wo- 
men, repaired to the Sepulchre. They saw the stone 
taken away from the door of the sepulchre, and they 
found that the body was not there. Perplexed at 
this discovery, Mary, returning to Peter and John, 
they hastened with her to the Sepulchre. After 
they had satisfied themselves of the truth of her 
report, they believed the fact to be as she had said, 
that the body was conveyed to some other place. 
They thought it, probably, a vain attempt to make 
any further search, and, disconsolate and afflicted, 
returned to their own homes. 

Mary's zeal, however, could not so rest satisfied. 
Pondering in her heart, what accident could have 
happened to her Lord, Marv stood weeping by the 

20 



238 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

tomb. Distracted amidst a thousand perplexing 
thoughts, her imagination was unable to fix itself 
on any. She began, perhaps, to question whether 
her senses might not have misinformed her; she 
hoped, she wished, she was almost ready to be- 
lieve, that her Lord might still be there. Her tears 
were yet flowing, and her heart unsettled, when, to 
satisfy herself, she looked once more into the Se- 
pulchre. She found not indeed her Lord, but she 
saw there those celestial Spirits that had ministered 
unto him. Jesus had risen from the grave, accord- 
ing to his prediction. 

His disciples seem not to have had the least ex- 
pectation of an event like this, and bewildered by 
their wrong conceptions concerning the nature of 
the Messiah's kingdom, they were unprepared to 
receive the intelligence. These celestial spirits 
therefore remained here, to receive the visit which 
the women meant unto their Lord, to explain to 
them how it came to pass that their Master was not 
there, to procure a serious regard to his resurrec- 
tion by the impressive solemnity of this testimony, 
and to suggest to their minds, or to recall to their 
remembrance, such considerations as might confirm 
their faith in it, and, through their report, facilitate 
the assent of their brethren. 

These observations are justified by the discourse 
that passed between the angels and the women, dur- 
ing Mary's absence, whilst she was returning to 
the N city to inform the disciples that the Sepulchre 
had been opened, and that the body had been con- 
veyed away. 

By whatever means, or for whatever reasons 
these illustrious Ministers had been unobserved by 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 239 

Peter and John, they concealed not themselves from 
so disconsolate a mourner as Mary. Had she look- 
ed again into the tomb, and seen nothing there but 
the grave clothes of her Lord, when afterwards 
she was suddenly addressed by him, her surprize 
perhaps might have overpowered her, or her doubt 
and despair might have been so confirmed, that she 
would have been incapable of giving credit to her 
senses, and would have treated the salutation of 
her Master as a vain apparition, the illusive creature 
of her own imagination. These courteous stran- 
gers therefore, kindly revealed themselves to her, 
they seemed to take a friendly part in her distress, 
and compassionately asked her, Woman, why weep- 
est thou ? Because, said she, in the fulness of her 
heart, in all the artless simplicity of sorrow, be- 
cause they have taken away my Lord, and I know 
not where they have laid him 

Did Mary imagine, that the Arimathean had 
prevented her in those last sad testimonies of re- 
gard, that she meant to her deceased Lord ? Did 
she fancy that he had already done the last kind 
offices to the lifeless body, and conveyed it to 
some other mansion in the house of death, where 
it might for ever lodge, forgotten and undis- 
turbed ? Or, is it more probable that she painted 
to herself, that precious corpse, consecrated as 
it was by the pure, the good, the pious spirit, by 
which it had so lately been animated, exposed, to 
the malicious insults of insatiable persecutors ? 
or abandoned in some unfrequented solitude, neg- 
lected and unknown ? Whatever were the par- 
ticular conceptions which dictated these words, 
it is plain that they were exceedingly distressful; 
for, no sooner had she mentioned the cause of her 
affliction than she turned herself, it might be, to con* 



240 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

ceal the excess of her grief. Jesus was behind her, 
but she knew not that it was he. Blinded by her 
tears, or overwhelmed by her sorrow, she at first 
knew not either his appearance or his voice. She 
took him for the keeper of the garden; she thought 
no one needed to ask her why she wept, or whom 
she sought; tell me, Sir, said she, if thou hast borne 
him hence, where thou hast laid him, and I will take 
him away.* Christ, not untouched with the feeling 
of her infirmities, is no longer able to sustain the trial 
of her affection. He saw her anguish, and said to 
her, in a voice that carried deep conviction and com- 
fort to her heart, " Mary I" — 4 Look at me Mary, 
dost thou not know thy Lord ? I see the sincerity 
and zeal of thy affection, and thou, Mary, hast the 
honour of being the first eye-witness, that he who 
was dead is alive again, and lives for evermore !' 

It has generally been supposed, but it is undoubt- 
edly anerrour, that the Mary who wept at the tomb 
of Jesus, was the once licentious Mary who had shed 
tears of penitence on his feet.t Mary Magdalene, 
on the contrary, as appears from the scripture ac- 



* There is a singular beauty in this abrupt address of Mary. — She 
enters into no explanation respecting the person she sought. So 
entirely was her mind absorbed by one great overwhelming idea— by 
the excess of her grief and the destruction of all her hopes, that she 
could not conceive the possibility of any one mistaking the cause A 
very striking proof surely, among innumerable others, of the perfect 
authenticity of the narrative. — Editor. 

f The learned and excellent Dr. Lardner addressed a pamphlet in 
the year 1753 to the benevolent Mr. Hanway, who, however worthy, 
was not a Scripture Critick. ou the impropriety in the thing itself, as 
well as on the injustice done to the memory of this excellent person by 
hi* intention of calling the house to be erected, for the reception of 
penitent prostitutes, " a Magdelene House." In this pamphlet the 
subject is thoroughly examined, and it is proved beyond the possibility 
of a doubt, that Mary Magdalene is always mentioned by the sacred 
writers with the greatest respect, After a very minute and accurate 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 241 

count of her, was a woman of respectable character, 
and of distinguished rank, and a principal supporter 
of Christ in his travels. We are expressly told, 
however, that she had been a demoniack, that is, a 
lunatick, and that she had been healed by the hand of 
Jesus. 

What was her gratitude we have seen, so fervent, 
and lively, that it scarcely can, although in reason it 
surely ought, to be exceeded by theirs, in whom his 
gospel has healed the deadlier maladies of the mind. 
Abstracted from the consideration of the particular 
obligation which she owed to Jesus, Mary's attach- 
ment to him appears in every view of it, respectable 
and amiable : — let us ask ourselves, would such sen- 
timents of love and veneration add less grace to our 
characters? Would they be less amiable and respec- 
table in us ? Let the answer of our consciences 
determine our conduct. 

I would now suggest a few thoughts on the causes, 
and therefore on the reasonableness of Mary's joy in 
the discovery that was made to her, that her Lord 
was risen from the dead. 

1st. The resurrection of Christ was a subject of 
rejoicing to her, because it was the restoration of a 

examination of the subject, Dr. Lardner proceeds as follows ; " Let us 
now sum up the evidence. Mary of Magdala was a woman of distinc- 
tion, and very easy in her worldly circumstances. For a while she had 
laboured under some bodily indisposition, which our Lord miraculously 
healed. For which benefit she was ever after very thankful. So far 
as we know, her conduct was always regular, and free from censure. 
And we may reasonably believe, that after her acquaintance with our 
Saviour, it was edifying and exemplary. I conceive of her as a woman 
of fine understanding, and known virtue, and discretion, with a dignity 
of behaviour becoming her age, her wisdom, and her high station." 
Editor. 



242 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

most respectable and amiable friend, highly honoured 
and affectionately beloved by her. In Mary's mind, 
the light of reason had been obscured, perhaps near- 
ly extinguished. As he went about doing good, Jesus 
met this unhappy maniack. She was a proper subject 
on whom to exert the miraculous power, which, in 
confirmation of his mission from on high, he was 
enabled to exercise : he saw, pitied, and healed her. 
Her heart was not ungrateful ; she knew the value 
of the gift of reason; she was not insensible to the 
deplorable situation of those, in whom it is enfeebled 
or bewildered : she felt her obligations to God the 
gracious author, and to Christ, the kind and com- 
passionate instrument of her deliverance. 

From the sacred history it appears that she had no 
occupation, and no family to attach her to any special 
residence ; that her years had already given her a 
title to respect, and that her circumstances were not 
only easy, but even affluent, Very naturally there- 
fore, very innocently, and very laudably, and without 
the infringement or neglect of any social duty, from 
the moment of her recovery, she seems to have de- 
voted herself to a faithful attendance upon him, to 
whom she owed the resurrection of her intellectual 
and moral life. Thus, as he travelled from city to 
city, in execution of the high commission which God 
had given him, to bear witness of the truth, she lost 
no opportunity of hearing the lessons which he had 
enabled her to understand, or of administering to 
his support and comfort as his circumstances might 
require. In this frequent intercourse, what an infi- 
nite variety of events must have been daily multiply- 
ing the evidences of his divine authority ! what dis- 
coveries of his transcendent excellence to magnify 
her respect, and to increase her veneration for Jesus ! 
Thus knowing him, and thus obliged to him, what 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 243 

must have been the feelings of her heart when she 
heard that he was condemned ; when she saw him 
crucified ; when she attended his entombment; when 
she came to embalm his body, and found it removed, 
whither, and by whom, she knew not! 

Have you ever seen the wise, the good, the friend- 
ly, those to whose councils and beneficence you had 
owed substantial and numerous obligations ; to whom 
you had long been united in the bonds of sincere, 
affectionate, and respectful friendship; have you ever 
seen them, have you ever bid adieu to them, as you 
saw them lying on the very margin of the grave? — 
When you had given them your last kind wishes, 
and your last lingering look, have you suddenly 
been called back, to receive them as it were, alive 
from the dead ? What your hearts, at that moment, 
conceived and dictated, may help you to form some 
faint ideas of the pious joy that agitated the heart 
of Mary ? yet, though from the grave itself you had 
literally received such a friend, unless your obliga- 
tions had been equal to her obligations, and your 
friend equal unto her friend, your sentiments, how- 
ever alike in kind, could not, in degree, have been 
equal unto hers. 

2d. The resurrection of Christ was a subject of 
rejoicing unto Mary, in as much as it was to her, and 
not to her only, but to the whole world, the restora- 
tion of a wise, a kind, and faithful insti ucter. 

Mary knew how to value such a blessing. The 
times in which she lived, rendered such a blessing 
particularly valuable. The Scribes, " taught not 
with authority ;" the Pharisees "said, and did not;" 
they " bound heavy burdens" on their disciples ; their 
characters corresponded not with their requisitions. 



244 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

They knew little of the religion of reason ; they un- 
derstood not their own scriptures ; they inculcated 
" for divine commandments, the traditions of men." 
In the lessons of such teachers, Mary must often have 
regretted the want of light and energy ; and how 
happy must she have thought herself, how ardently 
must she have rejoiced, for the sake of others, as 
well as on her own account, that in Jesus she had 
found a religious teacher, concerning whom it was 
strictly true, what the officers and the chief priests 
had affirmed, that never " man spake like this man." 
To see this light of the world extinguished ; the im- 
provement which her own character and comfort 
might have derived from his services, for ever at 
an end ; all the hopes which from his ministry she 
had formed in behalf of truth and virtue, and of 
every human interest extinct for ever : crucified by 
the world which he loved, which he blest, which 
he enlightened, which he prayed for, which he guided 
by his example, as well as by his counsels; what 
hope, what interest was buried, — in Mary's view for 
ever buried, in the tomb of Jesus! Breakup that 
tomb, set the captive free, give him back again unto 
the world, and how joyful is the revolution ! The 
clouds that hung upon the sepulchre of Joseph were 
dark indeed and lowering, but the darker they were, 
so much brighter was the scene which the morning 
of the third day opened, and the livelier the joys 
that it enkindled within Mary's heart. — That day, 
by anticipation, renewed to her the edification and 
the comfort, which heretofore she had so often ex- 
perienced, in attending on the discources of her Lord. 
That day gave renewed life to the hopes, which the 
crucifixion of Christ had extinguished, that this friend 
of hers, would also, in respect of all their most im- 
portant interests, be a great and lasting benefit to 
the whole human race. 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 2-15 

What a transport ! how just the ground on 
which it stood ! how reasonable any elevation to 
which it might have risen, that this light of the 
world, the wisest counsellor, the best informed, 
and best authenticated instructor,- the safest, most 
amiable, and most animating Exemplar of mankind, 
having lost his life, unjustly, by the hands of wicked 
men, should have regained it speedily by the power 
of God, and have returned (as in Mary's apprehen- 
sion at the moment assuredly he had returned) to 
renewed intercourse with the world, to bless them 
probably for a long, certainly for an indefinite sea- 
son, with his preaching and example. To a mind 

which had been taught by Jesus the value of a life 
to come ; to a heart, which had learnt from him, to 
take a cordial interest in the welfare of all his breth- 
ren; what joy to hail his return from the realms 
where death had confined him, to give incontroverti- 
ble evidence, that death is not the end of man, and 
that the way of duty is likewise the way to make 
even death a blessing ? 

If our hearts are impressed as they ought to be, 
we shall sympathize with Mary's joy on this occa- 
sion ; and although we know, what she did not 
at first know, that the resurrection of Christ from 
the dead was not designed to prolong his residence 
in this world, yet shall we rejoice and give thanks, 
that his renewed life, though for no long continu- 
ance on earth, was the means of qualifying his 
disciples for the ministry to which they were ap- 
pointed, and (considering the consequences of that 
qualification) the means also of protracting the 
benefits of his ministry to this, and through this, 

to the latest generations. If then, in Mary's 

friendship we see any thing respectable and amia- 
ble ; and, however dark the intervening scenes^ 

21 



246 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

any thing in its final issue, desirable and happy, let 
us take care that our friendships be only with 
the wise and good. 

Again, if in the interest which Mary took in 
the information and good conduct of mankind there 
appears to be any thing respectable and amiable, 
we must of course believe that herein she is not 
unworthy of our imitation. It is easy to rejoice 
in the good instructions that are given to the world, 
and in the good examples that are set before it; 
but this will not discharge our duty : So far as 
God hath qualified us for it, such instructions must 
be given in our own persons to those who want 
and will receive them, and such examples must 
be exhibited to all men, in our own temper, and 
in our own lives. 



PRAYER. 

Happy are our eyes for they see, and hap- 
py are our ears for they hear, what Kings and 
Prophets desired to see, yet saw not, and to hear, 
yet did not hear them ! We rejoice in God, that 
he, who at sundry times and in divers manners, 
spake unto the Fathers in times past by the Pro- 
phets, hath spoken unto us in latter days by his 
Son, whom he hath made heir of all things, and 
placed at the right hand of the Majesty on high. If 
the word spoken by Angels was steadfast, and 
every transgression and disobedience received a 
just recompense of reward, how shall we escape 
if we neglect so great salvation, which at first 
began to be spoken by the Lord, and was con- 
firmed unto us by them that heard him, God 
also bearing them witness with signs, and won- 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 247 

ders, and divers miracles, and gifts of the holy 
Spirit. 

O righteous Father, let it not be our condemna- 
tion that light is come into the world, but that we 
have loved darkness rather than light because our 
deeds are evil. May our faith be a lively operative 
principle, purifying our hearts, working by love, and 
enabling us so to overcome this present world, that 
finally we may be presented faultless before the 
presence of thy glory with exceeding joy ! 

To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and 
majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. 
Amen. 



DISCOURSE XV. 

ON THE APPEARANCE OF CHRIST, AFTER HIS 
RESURRECTION, TO MARY MAGDALENE. 



PART II. 



John xx. 11 17. 

But Mary stood without at the Sepulchre weeping, &c. 

In the progress of our Discourse concerning the 
causes of joy in the resurrection of our Lord, that 
might naturally present themselves to the mind of 
Mary, we come now to observe in 

The third place, That the resurrection of Christ 
was not only the restoration of a most respectable 
and amiable friend, highly honoured and affec- 
tionately beloved by her ; the restoration also of 
a wise, a kind, and faithful instructer; but the dis- 
covery of this resurrection was itself a favour to 
Mary, and accompanied with such circumstances 
as were extremely friendly, and very honourable 
to her. 

To a mourner such as Mary, it had been a great 
privilege, if, from some just conceptions of what 
her Lord had taught, if from any thing contain- 
ed in the Jewish Scriptures or conveyed to her 



On the Appearance of Christ, &c. 249 

through credible tradition, or deduced from the ob- 
servations, sentiments, and reasonings of her own 
mind, she had been enabled to establish herself in 
the firm persuasion that a friend whom she so high- 
ly respected, and to whom she was so much obliged, 
having finished his course of duty, had obtained his 
recompense of reward. It would have been a great 
privilege, if by any means, Providence had enabled 
her to think so well of the condition after death, 
of those who were gone before her, as to antici- 
pate the renovation of her virtuous friendships with 
her virtuous predecessors, when her own course 
should have been run. This conviction had been 
an unspeakable blessing, and to have arrived at it 
must have filled her heart with joy and gladness. 
But, to have seen her risen Lord, to have conversed 
with him, if but for a few days, for a few hours, 
for a few moments; to have heard the voice of 
Jesus, when he had triumphed over death, though 
it had been in the tone of gentle reproof, accom- 
panied by the same air of countenance with which 
he said to Thomas, " be not faithless but believing :" 
though Mary had heard nothing from her Lord but 
the language of rebuke, that she had been seeking 
for the living among the dead, that she had not be- 
lieved his repeated predictions concerning his re- 
surrection, or had not understood what the rising 
from the dead should mean ; yet, as in the case of 
Thomas even such language of rebuke must have 
wrought conviction, that conviction alone would 
have enkindled gratitude and joy. But what great- 
er gratitude, what livelier joy, what a variety and 
multitude of pleasurable sentiments, that gentle 
air, that kind and penetrating tone of former friend- 
ship, which, while it showed that he was himself 
alive again, showed that his friendship also was 
living still; and instantly called up in Mary's mind 



250 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

the meekness and wisdom, as well as the authority 
with which he taught ; the energy, as well as kind- 
ness of his beneficence, and the obligations that 
she owed to him as her instructer and deliverer;* 

At the sight of that well known countenance, at 
the sound of that well known voice, what a multi- 
tude of pleasing recollections must have rushed 
into her mind ! — 4 His looks upon the cross, how 
full of pain and anguish ; in Joseph's tomb, how 
pale and ghastly ; now, what life, what ease, what 
sweetness, what dignity is there in them ! — How 
piercing were the accenls in which he cried " my 
God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me !" — 
Now, how soothing, how cheerful, how reviving is 
his voice ! — How much like himself is this Son of 
God ! — Immortal now, yet still meek, and lowly, 
kind, and condescending, as he ever was !— It is his 
own air, and manner, and expression ; it is that 
heavenly teacher, whose wisdom and whose charac- 
ter I have so much admired and reverenced; and 
on whose counsels and instructions I have so often 
hung with unspeakable satisfaction and delight ! It 
is that amiable friend, I know him well, I remember 
the transporting moment, the gracious countenance? 
and the powerful voice, when he composed my dis- 
tracted mind, and restored me to myself." 

* From many circumstances in her history incidentally related, it 
appears that Mary possessed a mind generous, enlightened, and dis- 
interested ; far superiour to that servile poverty of spirit which im- 
plicitly follows the multitude, and which instigated the anxious in- 
quiry, " Have any of the Pharisees and Rulers believed on him ?" 
She saw the transcendent excellence of her Lord through the guise of 
extreme poverty, and the imposing shadow of contumely and reproach. 
She saw, and in company with her other female associates, bore her 
noble testimony, during the agonizing journey to Golgotha, at the foot 
of the cross — and even when all hope was destroyed, at the tomb 
wherein his body was laid ! — tlpiTOR. 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 251 

It is very natural that ideas, such as these, should 
crowd into the mind of Mary, to confirm her faith, 
and to elevate her joy ; not clothed indeed in words, 
as in order to exhibit them to you it was now ne- 
cessary they should be exhibited, perhaps, not 
even formed into orderly and distinct conceptions; 
but, whatever pleasing sentiments were connected 
in her heart with the appearance and the voice of 
Jesus, they would instantly, at the same moment, 
as by the touch of lightning, be rekindled there; 
and, if one can at all enter into her feelings, or con- 
ceive the effect of the situation upon her mind, they 
must have been sentiments, which, if the time would 
have admitted, and the agitation of her mind allowed, 
would have vented themselves in some such lan- 
guage as that in which they have been now re- 
presented. 

The sentiments, however, that have been here 
ascribed to Mary, should not be considered merely 
as matter of conjecture, for, if the history be at- 
tended to, we must be inclined to believe, that in 
fact she was thus affected, and that such affections 
and such feelings were at this time really existing in 
her mind. Her reply to Jesus, discovering himself 
to her, was Rabboni, which, says the Evangelist, is 
to say, Master ! Our version has not given precise- 
ly and unambiguously the import of the Evange- 
list's interpretation; for the term he uses, signifies 
Teacher; and those who are versed in such litera- 
ture well know, that the term itself, together with 
that by which the Evangelist explains it, strictly and 
literally signifies, My great Instructer. She does 
not signify her recognition of Jesus, as in ordinary 
circumstances would have been most natural, by the 
simple enunciation of his name; she does not mere- 
ly cry out, My Lord : that appellation, though ex- 



252 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

pressive of respect, and of some relation that she 
bore to him, was too vague and general a term to 
suit the vigour of her impressions; too feeble and 
inadequate to satisfy the fulness of her mind. It 
was in his office of a Divine Instructer, that she 
had been used to attend upon and contemplate him; 
it was in this relation that she found those features 
that had continually cherished and improved her 
esteem, and which had justified and confirmed her 
attachment. This, therefore, was the compella- 
tion which her mind instantly suggested — 'Great 
Teacher,' was her language, ; with whom no other 
teacher, however eminent and excellent, ought 
ever to be compared.' The very terms then in 
which she recognized Jesus, in my apprehension, 
make it perfectly clear, that, on the . moment of 
his discovering himself to her, a multitude of pleas- 
ing recollections, like those we have endeavoured to 
describe, did actually rush into her mind, not 
merely to confirm the conviction of her senses, 
but to fill her mind with "all peace, and joy in be- 
lieving." 

Again, the kindness of this discovery to Mary, 
did not alone consist in the irresistible evidence 
which it afforded of her Master's resurrection; for, 
the moment that her mind recovered from its first 
agitation, and was at leisure to reflect upon the 
steps by which she had arrived at complete con- 
viction, her gratitude and joy must have received 
new accessions from the tender caution with which 
so transporting a discovery was made to her; — 
that it was not sudden, abrupt, and hasty, but, as 
far as was needful, progressive, gradual, and with 
preparation. 

When, from the Sepulchre, where she had been 
weeping, Mary turned herself from the Angel ; 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 253 

Jesus showed himself to her, but so circumstanced, 
that she should not recollect him. Considering the 
nature of Mary's errour, who took the person by 
whom she was addressed, for the gardener, and 
comparing this first address with the manner in 
which Jesus always addressed his mother, and with 
that subsequent address, in which he perfectly dis- 
covered himself, it may seem, perhaps, that he was 
concealed from her, as by other circumstances, so, 
in part at least, by something unusually distant and 
respectful in the manner of his accosting her. "Wo- 
man," said he, " why weepest thou ?" These words, 
though they did not discover the speaker, prepar- 
ed for the discovery. Mary, believing him to be 
the gardener, and suspecting he had taken away 
the body from the Sepulchre, would naturally fix 
her eyes upon his countenance, and whilst she at- 
tentively looked at him, must she not have traced 
there the features of her Lord ? Despairing indeed as 
her state of mind then was, and still incredulous about 
his resurrection, it would not be the idea of identity or 
sameness, butof similitude only, that wouldfirst strike 
her. When, from perceiving in the person, to whom 
she was speaking, some resemblance of her Lord, she 
was beginning to suspect that it might be himself; 
Jesus kindly converted that suspicion into certainty, 
and spake to her in a manner that left no doubt 
upon her mind, that it was indeed her Deliverer, her 
Instructer, and her Friend. The instant transition 
from a state of mind, totally occupied and deeply 
impressed with the idea that her Lord was irrecove- 
rably dead, to a state of indubitable persuasion that 
he was certainly alive again, might have been a 
change too great to have been supported. The abrupt 
and instantaneous discovery of himself, might have 
overpowered a very tender heart, and a very feeble 
frame. In Mary's case, the agitation occasioned by 
22 



254 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

so violent an impression, might have renewed the 
derangement of her ideas, and brought back a total 
alienation of mind. To Mary then, how striking 
and engaging must this tenderness have been, and 
when once she had become capable of reflecting 
upon it, what an improvement of her joy in the 
conviction, that her Lord was risen from the dead ! 

But this is not all; the discovery was not only 
thus kind to Mary, kind in itself, in its nature, in its 
manner, and in its circumstances — in other respects 
also it was singularly kind, and highly honourable. 
Mary and her associates forsook not their dying 
Lord. They staid by the cross, till the tragedy 
was over. They were the last to leave the Sepul- 
chre at his entombment, they were the first to re- 
visit it when the sabbath was ended, and " when 
therefore Jesus was risen," says St. Mark, "he 
appeared first to Mary Magdalene." The firmness 
of her faith, the boldness of her avowal of it, the 
steadiness of her attachment, the zeal of her affec- 
tion, the importance and disinterestedness of her 
services, all of them the result of that power which 
had been exerted to restore her from the most de- 
plorable condition of insanity, and her gratitude for 
this kind exertion of that power, merited, as it 
seems, this honourable distinction. Could Mary 
perceive that she was thus distinguished, and not 
rejoice in it ? could Mary receive from Jesus the 
message which he sent by her to his Apostles, and 
not know that none of them had yet seen him alive 
after his passion ? 

To whom is it that we first communicate our good 
tidings of great joy ? is it not to those whom we re- 
spect and love? In making the first discovery of 
himself to Mary, what a testimony did Jesus bear 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 255 

to Mary's merit, and to his own sense of it ! I would 
ask again, To whom is it that we first communicate 
good tidings, is it not to those of whom we are per- 
suaded, that they love and respect us ? is it not to 
those who will turn the joyful tidings we communi- 
cate, to the best account for all who have any inter- 
est in them ? What a testimony did Jesus herein 
bear to the benignity and liberality of Mary's sen- 
timents, and to her delight in every good word and 
work ! Who, and what are they, whom we employ 
in kind and honourable errands, but those of whom 
we are persuaded that they will execute them with- 
out envy, and will not themselves be envied, for the 
distinction that has been conferred upon them by 
those to whom they are sent ? 

How honourable then was the commission with 
which she was entrusted to Mary's candour, and 
to Mary's sympathy, as well as to the candour and 
sympathy of the Apostles ? how honourable is this 
testimony on the one hand to the equity of their 
sentiments, and on the other, to the respectability of 
her character and her title to the estimation in which 
they held her ? 

W r hen Isaiah, foretelling the deliverance of the 
Jews from the Babylonish captivity, describes the 
watchmen, discovering from their watch-towers afar 
off upon the mountains, the messenger that was 
bringing from Assyria the glad tidings of salvation, 
he represents the watchmen as admiring and almost 
envying the messenger, and the messenger, as ex- 
ulting in the errand upon which he comes. 

How beautiful, say they, upon the mountains, 

Are the feet of that joyful messenger, of him that announceth peace, 

Of that joyful messenger of good tidings, of him that announceth salvation, 

And that sayeth unto Sion, thy God reigneth ! 



2.5Q On the Appearance of Christ, after 

You feel, I am persuaded, how natural are the sen- 
timents of the watchmen and the messenger, how 
closely connected with, and how perfectly suitable 
to their situation. Had you descried a messenger 
bringing the good tidings of the deliverance of 
your captive countrymen, you would have admired 
and rejoiced in his alacrity ; and if yourselves had 
been entrusted with the message, the like exultation 
and alacrity would have distinguished you. But 
what had that messenger to announce that can be 
compared with the joyful tidings that Mary had to 
reveal ? Is the restoration of the remains of a cap- 
tive nation, to be compared with the pledge of hu- 
man immortality? Is the deliverance of one people 
out of the hands of their enemies, to be compared 
with the demonstration of all men's triumph over 
death? Of which good news would you rather have 
been the messenger ? In which of these felicities 
would you have preferred to take your share ? 

To convey to friends the joyful tidings of the 
resurrection of a common friend, what heart would 
not spring forward to so delightful, so acceptable a 
service ? — To carry such tidings to disappointed 
disconsolate, and despairing friends, what zeal and 
alacrity must not this have added to the embassy ? — 
But, if the message involved in it also, glad tidings 
of great joy to all people, what tongue can express 
the exultation to which it must have given rise? — 
To a generous mind the errand must have been as 
delightful, as it was important; and the employ- 
ment, in itself a subject of the purest joy, must 
have formed a great and unspeakable obligation to 
the Employer, — It was a testimony of respect, it 
was an act of kindness, it was an occasion given to 
excite, to exercise, and to improve, both in herself 
and others, the sweetest and most ennobling affec- 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 25 7 

tions of the human heart. What a subject this, of 
thankfulness and joy ! great enough, as it seems 
to me, to have been felt sensibly, even amidst all 
those other lively sentiments, that the conviction of 
her Master's resurrection must have enkindled in 
her heart. 

But this is not all the grace and honour which 
this discovery of himself, and the circumstances of 
this discovery to Mar}, comprehends in it; for it 
remains still to be added, that these favours and 
these honours were conferred upon her, in the pre- 
sence of many friends and associates whom, she es- 
teemed and loved, and by whom she was recipro- 
cally respected. 

It appears to be a fact, clearly deducible from 
an attentive consideration of the various narratives 
of the four Evangelists, that when Jesus revealed 
himself to her, Mary was not alone. She was at- 
tended to the sepulchre, in her way thither, and 
from it also, by those honourable women, who, in 
his last journey, as well as formerly, had accom- 
panied our Lord from Galilee to Jerusalem; who 
had been present at his crucifixion and his burial, 
and had carefully observed, where, and how the 
body was entombed. 

It is probable that there subsisted among these 
pious followeis of their Master, many tender ties 
of friendship and attachment. In their daily in- 
tercourse, many mutual kindnesses must have been 
perpetually circulating among them, by which means 
they would be formed to the readiest sympathy 
with the pains and pleasures of each other; and, 
in the presence of their Lord at least, would have 
enjoyed much edifying conversation. But, besides 



258 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

all these, and many other causes of esteem and af- 
fection, they were " all one in Christ:" their at- 
tachment to their common Lord, cemented more 
closely their attachment to each other, and the 
respect he showed to all, rendered them all recipro- 
cally more respectable. 

To be distinguished by such a personage, in the 
presence of such friends, so affectionately beloved, 
and so amiable ; so respectfully esteemed, and so 
respectable ; was no trifling distinction, no ordinary 
favour, no common honour : I was going to have 
said, the language of it was, " many daughters 
have done virtuously, yet thou hast excelled them 
all," but I feel myself something checked in that 
idea, yet not altogether precluded from such an in- 
terpretation of the text,*by the consideration, that 
they were partakers, as well as witnesses, of the 
favours that were conferred on Mary. 

From John it appears indeed, that Mary was 
particularly addressed, but from Matthew it is as 
manifest that the whole company also were ad- 
dressed by him. In revealing himself to Mary 
therefore, Jesus revealed himself to all who were 
within hearing of the conversation, and in the er- 
rand that was particularly prescribed to her, it was 
signified to all that they were to accompany her. 
To have had the favour she received, conferred, 
though not in the presence of those she esteemed 
and loved, had been just matter of rejoicing: to 
have received .distinction in their sight, in which 
they could in no degree have participated, might, 
no doubt, have been matter of rejoicing still : but 
to a heart of generous sensibility^ this would have 
been a diminished favour. Surely it must have im- 
proved her joy and gratitude, that, though on this 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 259 

occasion distinguished, she was not greatly nor in- 
vidiously distinguished^and that the honour done in 
particular to herself, was a very small account in 
comparison of that by which all her associates were 
equally distinguished. 

To be singularly distinguished in an honourable 
society where all deserve distinction, while, in one 
view it is an honour of the highest kind, in an- 
other, is far less acceptable, far less desirable, and 
far less joyful, than to stand as near, as is consis- 
tent with any sort of distinction, on a level with 
those whom we feel to be as worthy of our esteem, 
as we can conceive ourselves to be of theirs. To 
be the principal, and only just the principal, on 
such an occasion, and in such an embassy, was a 
far more acceptable distinction than to have engros- 
sed the honour of it wholly, or to have stood very 
high above those who were admitted to some par- 
ticipation of the honour. How beautifully does 
this consideration display the wisdom, the delicacy, 
and the benignity of Jesus ! While at the same 
time, giving greater purity to Mary's exultation, 
and therefore more approveableness to her own 
feelings, and adding also a more perfect sympathy 
with more perfect pleasure in the breasts of her 
associates and friends, what an elevation must it 
have given to her triumphs, what livelier emotions 
under the recent impressions of the scene, and how 
much more heartfelt and more permanent satisfac- 
tion in her subsequent reflections on them ! 

From what has been suggested in this and the 
foregoing Discourse, it is obvious to remark, 

In the first place. That it is not a formal, care- 
less, or cursory perusal of the sacred history, that 



280 On the Appearance of Christ, after 

can discover to us all its beauties, or let in its just 
impressions to our hearts. This can be attained 
only by attentive meditation, and reiterated reflec- 
tion on the scenes and circumstances of the events, 
and on the feelings and language of the agents. 
Without this, many of the beauties of the sacred 
story will lie hidden from us, and therefore, many 
things that might have confirmed our faith, and 
through that, our virtue, as well as many things 
that might have exercised the good affections of 
our hearts, will remain undiscovered. 

Secondly. To reflect upon Mary's faith may con- 
tribute to confirm and enliven ours. We believe 
that death is not the end of man, and it is well that 
we believe it, it is weli for ourselves, and for all 
who live with us; it is for their comfort, and for 
our comfort; and though it be greatly for our in- 
terest, it is nevertheless for the credit of our under- 
standings also, that we believe it. Reason intimates 
this truth, Christianity asserts it, and in Christ, 
shown alive after his passion, we have an argument 
from fact, a specimen of human fates. As it is for 
the credit of our understandings, for the support of 
our minds under affliction, and the melioration of 
our character at all times, that we should receive 
this joyful doctrine, it is of the first importance that 
our faith in it should never decline or waver. It 
is our prudence therefore, and our duty also, often 
to renew the ground on which our faith is support- 
ed, and to avail ourselves of every fact, and ot 
every consideration, to establish and enliven it. 

Of this nature, if I mistake not, we shall find the 
conviction that was produced in the mind of Mai v. 
It was not a conviction that she expected ; it was 
not a conviction for which she had prepared her- 



his Resurrection, to Mary Magdalene. 261 

self; It was not a conviction for which the previous 
circumstances had disposed her mind; her preju- 
dices were all on the other side ; her feelings were 
the most unfavourable, and the very entrance of any 
such idea into her mind was powerfully precluded. 
She had been seeking for the body in the sepul- 
chre, she was perplexed that it was not to be found 
there ; she had prepared wherewith to perform the 
last sad offices of respect to a deceased friend, and 
she conceived that some one had anticipated her in 
these services, or had put it beyond her power to 
perform them, and she was weeping, in all the 
anguish of disappointment. She did not recollect 
Jesus when she saw him ; she did not recollect 
him, even when he spoke to her : how powerful 
then must have been the impression, how irresisti- 
ble the evidence, to overcome all this indisposi- 
tion to receive it ; to convert such darkness into 
light; such incredulity, into firm and lively faith; 
and such despondent melancholy, into joy and 
triumph ! 

How firm is the testimony of such a witness? 
With how much comfort and satisfaction may we 
rely upon it ! In her conviction surely, there is pow- 
er enough to compose any doubts of ours, and to 
engage us to rejoice in her report, as " a faithful 
saying, and worthy of all acceptation." 



PRAYER. 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord 
Jesus Christ, who of his abundant mercy by the 
resurrection of his Son from the dead, hath begot- 
ten us again unto a lively hope of an inheritance 

23 



262 On the Appearance of Christ, &c. 

incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, 
reserved in Heaven for us ! 

Enable us, O merciful Father, so to walk, as he 
also walked. Being risen with Christ, may we set 
our affections not on things below, but on things 
above. While we are in the world, may we be 
the lights of the world ; may w r e live an ornament 
to the reasonable nature, and a credit to that holy 
name by which we are called. And whenever 
thou shalt see good to remove us from the pre- 
sent scene, may it appear to all, by our patience 
and submission, by our tranquillity and composure, 
by our readiness to go hence and to be with 
Christ, that true religion can impart consolation, 
above the reach of time, and chance, and death. 

Finally, O God, having approved ourselves 
through all the changes of this world thy faithful 
servants and obedient children, in the next may we 
be received into those blissful mansions, whither 
Christ as our forerunner is already entered; and 
where all the wise and worthy, of all ages and 
generations, of all nations, tongues, and kindreds, 
shall be for ever settled in thy heavenly presence ! 
Amen. 



DISCOURSE XVI. 

REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, AS 

TENDING TO CONFIRM OUR FAITH IN 

THE CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE. 



Matthew xxviii. 6. 
Come and see the place where the Lord lay. 

To the serious and well instructed Christian the 
tomb of Jesus is a very interesting and edifyin 
theme of contemplation ; and if the Infidel woul 
attend the place where Jesus lay, such considera- 
tions could not fail to suggest themselves even to him, 
as might create a doubt at least, concerning the rea- 
sonableness of his unbelief. 

The words of the text were spoken by an angel 
who attended the sepulchre of Jesus, to the women 
who came thither early in the morning after the 
sabbath, to complete the embalming, which, on ac- 
count of its approach, had been left unfinished. 
The women were amazed to find the sepulchre un- 
sealed ; they were perplexed when they found not 
the body; they dreamt not of a resurrection, for as 
yet they understood not the scriptures, which said 
that Jesus must rise from the dead. 

In the following Discourses, we shall not confine 
ourselves to those objects merely, to which the ce- 



264 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesits. 

lestial messenger particularly invited the attention 
of the persons he addressed, but taking a wider 
scope, shall divide the meditations, that present them- 
selves, into two different classes, comprising under the 
first, such as have a tendency to confirm our faith in 
the christian doctrine ; and under the second, such 
as have a tendency to awaken or enliven those good 
affections that constitute and adorn the Christian 
temper. 

Under the first head let us inquire, what were 
the peculiar circumstances in the place where Jesus 
lay, to confirm our faith in him and in his gospel ; 
and here it may be useful to consider, 

Where the sepulchre was situated ; 
Of what materials it was composed ; 
To whom it belonged ; and 
What was deposited within it ? 

Each of these considerations will suggest some 
reflections of powerful efficacy to confirm our faith 
in Christ, either by justifying our dependence upon 
the writers of his life, and the credit that we attach 
to the history of his resurrection ; or, by displaying 
to us a part of that minute and wonderful attention, 
with which the providence of God disposed the vari- 
ous circumstances of his death, so as to produce 
complete conviction, that " the Lord is risen indeed," 
and thus declared to be " the Son of God, with 
power." 

First If it be asked, Where was the place in 
which the Lord lay ? The apostle John gives the 
following answer. " In the place where he was 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 265 

crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a 
new sepulchre, there they laid Jesus therefore, be- 
cause of the Jews' preparation day, for the sepulchre 
was nigh at hand." 

It may seem strange that in a scene of pleasure, 
in a garden, its owner should have placed a memen- 
to, which is so wont to strike a damp upon all human 
pleasures, and to check our joy amidst the most 
innocent and rational amusements. But, inconsis- 
tent as this may generally be found with the man- 
ners of the modern and the western world ; unna- 
tural as it may appear, at any time, or in any coun- 
try, to have placed a sepulchre in a garden, this 
circumstance is so far from adding any thing to the 
incredibility of the marvellous relation in which it 
stands, that it rather tends to render it the more 
credible ; as it is perfectly agreeable to the pre- 
vailing customs of the time and of the country, con- 
cerning which the evangelical historian speaks. 

The Jews were not allowed to build sepulchres 
in their cities, lest the living might accidentally 
contract such pollution from the dead, as should 
disqualify them for the worship of the Sanctuary. 
It was required that their burying places should be 
at least two thousand cubits from their cities, and 
the sepulchre in which Jesus lay, was still further 
distant. And, as they were not allowed to build 
their sepulchres in any of their towns, so neither in 
Jerusalem were they even permitted to lay out their 
gardens, it is an old tradition which the Jewish 
writers have themselves preserved from the time of 
Christ, and even from an earlier period, that in Je- 
rusalem no gardens were permitted, except a very 
few, which they specify, and which they tell us had 
remained undisturbed from the days of the ancient 



266 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, 

prophets, viz. the gardens of Roses. The reason 
of the prohibition is not so evident as the fact ; 
whether it proceeded from some superstitious pre- 
judice, or from political considerations, does not ap- 
pear ; for it is merely remarked bj the Jews, as a 
peculiarity belonging to the holy city. 

Their own historian, who relates the destruction 
of Jerusalem, has observed, that Titus, the Roman 
general, found great difficulty, and was exposed to 
extreme danger in his approaches to take a view of 
the city, from the ditches that had been dug, and 
the fences that had been raised to divide the gardens 
which occupied a considerable space in the territory 
that lay round it. Since then, every citizen of Je- 
rusalem, if he wished to have a garden, must have 
it without the walls, and must also have his burial 
place at a distance, it was convenient, not to say 
necessary, to have them in the same place. In a 
Jewish garden, therefore, it was reasonable to ex- 
pect a sepulchre; and such was the distance of 
the cross from the walls of the city, that in the 
neighbourhood of the cross, it was reasonable to 
expect a garden. 

It is an essential character of a true history, 
that even every incidental circumstance of the nar- 
nation, however repugnant to those of earlier or 
later times, should be perfectly correspondent to 
the characters, the laws, the maxims, and the cus- 
toms, of those that are the subject of it. And 
wherever this correspondence is invariably main- 
tained, through the whole of a long and minute 
detail, it is an indication which may most reasona- 
bly be relied upon, that it is the work, if not of an 
eye-witness, yet of one who lived very near the 
times and the scenes in which he wrote. Nothing 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 267 

is more easy than to preserve this correspondence 
when the writer's pen is governed by recent well 
known facts, and when he has no other intention 
than to describe the things he relates, as they actually 
took place; and nothing is more difficult, when im- 
agination guides the pen, and the intention is to pro- 
cure credit to things of its own creating. In the 
one case, so little thought is required, that an honest 
mind cannot easily mistake ; in the other case, so 
extensive a knowledge, so particular and so labo- 
rious an attention is necessary, that even the great- 
est abilities seldom succeed ; in some instance or 
other, the attention will fail, and the illusion betray 
itself. Throughout the whole of the gospel history 
however, various as are the scenes, the characters, 
the customs, and the manners, that are either large- 
ly and expressly described, or occasionally and ob- 
liquely alluded to, not one such example can be 
found ; they always appear in exact conformity with 
the representations of other unconnected and ap- 
proved writers of like antiquity ; and lor this rea- 
son alone, the gospel history is worthy of the most 
perfect credit, for it must have been written by per- 
sons well acquainted with the various facts that are 
delineated, and who were conversant among the 
scenes, the customs, and the characters they de- 
scribe. 

The place of the sepulchre wherein our Lord was 
laid, is one of the many instances, which, however 
improbable at first view, upon due consideration 
give great credibility to the history in which they 
occur, and which, taken altogether, will preclude 
from the serious and candid mind every suspicion 
of its truth. It is a circumstance which a writer, 
who had not written upon the spot, and from fact, 
would hardly have conceived ; and which an impos- 



268 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesns. 

tor, who had written from imagination only, most 
certainly would not have thought of. Though it 
was not ordinarily allowed to entomb the dead with* 
in the precincts of the holy city, yet, as a peculiar 
honour to the family of David, the Kings of that 
house were buried there. If the Evangelist, who 
was a Jew, and who could not be ignorant of this 
fact, had not been relating an actual event, but con- 
triving a seducing story, it would have been most 
natural, by some means or other, (of which a variety 
could not have failed to occur to a man capable 
of inventing the other parts of the narrative) to 
have lodged the body of this King of Israel, the 
Lord of David, a descendant of that Royal House, 
even more illustrious than its founder, in the sepul- 
chre of David. This is a burial place for the hero 
of the storv, which would have insinuated itself into 
the imagination of a deceiver, rather than an unfin- 
ished sepulchre in a neighbouring garden. But the 
fact is, that it was nothing but the truth which the 
Evangelist recorded. He did not draw the circum- 
stances from his own invention, nor mould them ac- 
cording to his fancy, he related them simply as they 
actually were. 

As every part of a true story must cohere with 
all the rest, and every following incident arise out 
of those that preceded, so there were the most co- 
gent reasons why our Lord should be laid where he 
actually was deposited, rather than in any other 
place, for it was "nigh at hand :V and hence arises 
another consideration to confirm our faith in him, 
and our attachment to his cause as the cause of 
heaven. A prediction had been uttered by him, 
in the most publick manner, concerning the time 
of his continuance under the power of death, and 
this prediction had been expressed on different oc- 



Reflections on the l^omb of Jesus* 269 

easions, in different forms. At one time our Lord 
had said that he should be put to death, and that on 
" the third day he should rise again ;" at another 
time, that " the Son of Man should be three days in 
the heart of the earth." It is evident that these two 
prophecies could not be made consistent with each 
other, unless he were buried on the salne day he 
died ; this then was absolutely necessary to the 
fulfilment of the prophecy. Now according to the 
Jewish computation of time, one day ended, as the 
next began, at six in the evening ; but so much of 
the day had elapsed on which our Lord was crucifi- 
ed, before he was actually dead, that there remain- 
ed no time to be wasted. Before six he must be 
interred, and four was now approaching when he 
died. Divine Providence was not miraculously to 
interfere with the kind and pious sentiments of his 
friends, who, having conceived no hope of his resur- 
rection, could not think of burying him without the 
usual testimonies of affection to the dead. That 
they had not time to accomplish all they wished to 
do, and what was customary to be done, is evident 
from this, that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, 
who had seen the body wrapped up in spices by Jo- 
seph and Nicodemus before they laid it in the se- 
pulchre, according to the custom of the Jews, never- 
theless came thither early in the morning of the 
next day but one, with other preparations for the 
embalment. Had there been no repository for the 
dead so near, or had a sepulchre been chosen at a 
greater distance, it is probable that the tenderness 
of his friends for their deceased Master, would have 
defeated the predictions of their living Lord : unless 
embalmed, though in an imperfect manner, they 
would not have buried him, and if longer time must 
have been spent in his conveyance to a more distant 
grave, he could not have been lodged there betore 
the day on which he died was over. 

24 



270 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

But, by what means should they be urged to the 
necessary despatch, in contradiction to the feelings of 
friends so warmly attached to their Master by the 
deepest and tenderest sentiments of respect and 
affection ? It was appointed by that God, who is ex- 
cellent in counsel and abundant in means, that his 
beloved Son should expire on the eve of the Jewish 
Sabbath. The day following it had been unlawful 
either to inter, to embalm, or to make any kind of 
preparation for the funeral ; by this means, there- 
fore, Divine Wisdom made it impossible for them 
not to do what was necessary, in order to verify the 
prediction of our Lord. But even this would not 
have been sufficient to ensure its accomplishment, if 
the body must of necessity have been conveyed to 
some considerable distance from the cross. It was 
necessary, therefore, that to an approaching Sabbath, 
there should be added an adjoining tomb. 

In the expedition used by this disciple, it is clear 
that they had no intention to provide for the verifying 
of these prophecies ; for, although they were more 
than once repeated, it is observed in the course of 
the narration, that the disciples understood them 
not, that they were afraid to inquire of their Mas- 
ter, that they comprehended not his predictions, 
either of his previous sufferings, his death, or the 
resurrection that should follow. It was only when 
the events actually took place, by which these decla- 
rations were fulfilled, that they apprehended their 
true meaning. So far from expecting a resurrection, 
they did not believe that he would die ; and it is evi- 
dent from the dejection, the despair, and the terrour 
into which they were thrown, when he actually did 
expire, that an event like this, was not " in all their 
thoughts." 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 27 1 

The disciples then, in the haste made by them 
to deposit their Lord in the nearest tomb, had no 
sort of intention to render the accomplishment of 
his former predictions possible. They were the 
voluntary, yet unconscious instruments in the hands 
of God, whose secret, yet real and all powerful 
providence, without the least suspicion of the 
Agents employed, had prepared the series of events 
to accomplish the great and important ends propos- 
ed. "It is the Lord's doing, and is marvellous in 
our eyes !" 

In the second place, St. Matthew tells us that Jo- 
seph of Arimathea laid the body in a new tomb 
which was hewn out in the rock. 

Does this appear a tedious and expensive method 
of forming a family burial place, and therefore cre- 
ate some hesitation about the fact? Let us remem- 
ber that it appears from the history of the demo- 
niack of Gadara, of whom it is said, ' that he came 
out of the tombs,' and that ' he abode in the tombs,' 
that the Jewish sepulchres were such as modern 
travellers have represented them ; spacious vaults 
in the neighbourhood of their cities, hewn out of 
the rocks, in the sides of which they cut out the 
cells where the dead were deposited, and there 
closed up. Sarah was buried in the excavation of 
a rock at Hebron ; the sepulchres of the house of 
David were of the same nature. In Isaiah's days, 
sepulchres were hewn out on high, and these final 
abodes, especially when intended for the rich and 
the great, were graven for them in a rock. The 
tomb of Lazarus was a cell hollowed out, in a na- 
tural or artificial cave. Such it seems in general, 
were the sepulchres of the Jews, in their own coun- 
try, from the earliest, even to the latest times. 



272 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

But though it had not been the custom of the 
Jews, to provide such receptacles for their dead, 
it would still have remained probable that the se- 
pulchre in which Jesus lay was of this kind, for it 
was near the spot where he was crucified ; and this 
single circumstance gives a degree of probability 
to what is said concerning it. Though, in itself, it 
had been a thing exceedingly improbable, that a 
family burial place should be hewn out of the solid 
rock, yet it is most natural to believe that a family 
burial place, in such a situation, must have been 
of this kind. If it were near the cross, it was upon 
a rocky hill, for such was Goigotha, where the cross 
of Jesus was erected ; the soil of which had not 
depth enough to receive a subterranean building; 
in the sides of which an excavation would easily be 
made, and to the top of which, materials for any 
other kind of sepulchre, could not very easily have 
been conveyed. 

But this is not all the evidence that the kind of 
sepulchre in which Christ was laid, suggests, to 
justify and confirm our faith. There was necessari- 
ly no entrance, no possibility of gaining admittance 
but by the mouth, at which the guard of those who 
had murdered him, were placed. No sooner had 
the report of his resurrection spread abroad, than 
it was answered by another, industriously procur- 
ed, and sedulously propagated by his enemies, 
that the resurrection was a mere fiction of his 
friends, who had come by night and stolen him away. 
Had they then dug through the solid rock ? The 
rock was as entire as ever, and there was no other 
passage to be found. Was the pretended sleep 
of the Roman soldiers so sound, that the removal 
of the stone did not awake them ? Were the timid 
disciples become so courageous in the interval of a 
very few hours, that the attempt did not appal them ? 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 273 

Yet to the avowal of such improbabilities were 
the Priests and Pharisees reduced, by the very 
nature of the sepulchre wherein the body was de- 
posited. 

Again, To whom belonged the sepulchre in which 

Jesus lay ? 

It belonged to Joseph, a rich and honourable 
counsellor. It was prophecied of the Messiah, that 
he should make his grave with the rich in his death. 
We have seen that his friends were compelled by 
the hour at which he died, to deposit him in the 
nearest sepulchre ; and we may observe, that by 
the very same means, provision was made by the 
providence of God, for the fulfilment of this other 
prophecy also. It is probable that he was not in- 
tended to cjpitinue in this grave. It was taken, 
because they were obliged to take it for a tempo- 
rary repository; and it is most likely that if the 
sabbath had not approached so very near, he had 
never been deposited there at all ; for it appears 
from some circumstances in the narration, that the 
sepulchre was not only new, but as yet unfinished. 

Again, it is not observed by St. John without 
design, that in this sepulchre " never man was 
yet laid." If none but Jesus ever went into it, none 
but himself could proceed from it. This single cir- 
cumstance, even although the body had undergone 
some considerable change by the temporary inter- 
ruption of life, would sufficiently have ascertained 
the identity of the person, and precluded every 
doubt, whether the man that rose, was the very 
man who was crucified and buried there. Had it 
not been for the circumstance of the sepulchre being 
a new one, the adversaries of Christ might have 
admitted the reality of his resurrection, but have 



274 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

denied the consequences which the Christians drew 
from it. — Overlooking the predictions of our Lord, 
or, denying their reality, they might have urged ; 
6 Did ever any man infer concerning him, who re- 
vived on being let down into Elijah's sepulchre, 
that therefore, all he said was true ? — Did any man 
infer from thence that he was the Son of God ?' 
' The premises,' such cavillers might have assert- 
ed, 4 did not support any such inference : the fact 
had been* that some illustrious prophet, like Elijah, 
had been interred in Joseph's sepulchre, and that 
Christ, when he was deposited there, had impinged 
against the relicks of that prophet, and revived.' 
Such might have been the insinuations of the priests 
and rulers, and such was their influence with the 
people, that their insinuations might have gained 
credit. In a new sepulchre however, where never 
man had yet been laid, no relicks of a prophet could 
possibly be found. This circumstance therefore, 
was by no means insignificant, and the mention of it 
completes the argument. 

Christians, you need not fear for the gospel you 
love, it is of God, and the power of man cannot 
overthrow it. No human artifice or violence can 
effect its extirpation. Even the gates of hell shall 
not prevail against it. It may be injured by the 
superstition and licentiousness of its professors as 
much, nay more, than by the ridicule and virulence 
of its opposers. — Obstructed or oppressed it may 
be, but it never can be extinguished or overcome. 
This divine seed which our heavenly Father hath 
planted, is indestructable and immortal ; though it 
may not always thrive and grow according to your 
wishes and your prayers, though the tares with 
which it is intermingled may suppress and threaten 
to destroy it, you may trust in God that it shall be 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 275 

preserved for ever. It is written in the decrees of 
heaven, it is promised in the gospel prophecies ; 
the word of God faileth not; whatever seems to be 
defeating the accomplishment of its predictions, will 
eventually be overcome. The years are bringing 
on that glorious period, when the gospel shall be 
acknowledged by every tongue, and glorified in 
every life. — Christ was dead, and is alive again, and 
lives for evermore ! 



PRAYER. 

O Almighty and most merciful Father, we offer 
unto thee our most devout praise and thanksgiving, 
that thou hast vouchsafed unto us of this distant 
day such abundant evidence of the resurrection of 
thy Son from the dead ! We thank thee for the 
numerous attestations that have been given to this 
glorious and consolatory truth. Hasten, we humbly 
beseech thee, the approach of that blessed period, 
when all who partake with us in the same common 
nature, and in the common bounties of thy provi- 
dence, may become partakers also, in the invaluable 
blessings of thy Son's gospel. 

Seeing that our blessed Lord is indeed risen 
from the dead, and that if we obey him, because he 
lives, we shall live also, may we mortify our affec- 
tions which are on the earth, and put on that spiri- 
tual mind, which is life and peace. Enable us, O 
God, uniformly to maintain that superiority to all 
the trifles of this transitory state which becomes 
those who are called to glory, honour, and immor- 
tality, who are destined for the associates of the 
noblest spirits in the universe, who hope to live for 
ever where Jesus lives, in thy heavenly presence. 



DISCOURSE XVII. 



REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, TEND- 
ING TO IMPROVE THE CHRISTIAN TEMPER. 



PART II. 



Matthew xxviii. 6. 
Come see the place were the Lord lay. 

We purposed to divide our reflections upon the 
Tomb of Jesus into two great classes ; arranging 
under the first, such as have a tendency to enliven 
and confirm our faith ; and under the second, such 
as have a more immediate tendency to awaken and 
improve those good affections, that constitute the 
Christian temper, and adorn it. The first of these 
divisions being already finished, we proceed now to 
the second ; and here also we purpose to separate 
our reflections into two classes ; placing in the 
first, those that arise from the consideration that 
Jesus was deposited in the grave ; and in the se- 
cond, those that arise from the consideration that 
he did not continue to lie there. 

In the first place, to send our thoughts into the 

f)lace where Jesus lay, will help to cool our love of 
ife, and our fond attachment to this present world. 
Why do we cling so closely to a scene in which 
we cannot stay ? why do we rejoice so ardently in 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 277 

a flower which the noon-day sun may wither, which 
the evening blast will certainly destroy ? Why do 
we expect so much from a vapour, which appeareth 
for a little time, and then vanisheth away ? Why 
are we so warm in our affections towards a state, 
where our sweetest draughts are not unmixed with 
the gall of bitterness; out of which, when our 
hopes and joys are most lively, we may suddenly 
be remanded ; and in which, although this night 
were fixed for our departure, we may suffer, what 
would make that little interval appear long ? 

How short was the interval between the pass- 
over celebrated by Jesus in such sweet communion 
with his friends, — and that grave, which they be- 
dewed with their tears ? His hours were not many, 
but we cannot say so of his pains ! What bodily 
anguish, what mental sorrow, did he not, in that 
short time, experience ? — You know the story of 
Gethsemane; you remember the treacherous disci- 
ple ; you are no strangers to the malice of the 
Jewish Council ; to the mockery of Herod's Sol- 
diers, or to the injustice of Pilate's sentence. — Vou 
well know, that neither the insults of the heathen 
soldiery, nor the tortures inflicted by the cruel 
scourge, could appease the fury of his countrymen ; 
Jesus looked on them, and Pilate spake to them, 
in vain. What did he feel when they cursed them- 
selves that they might gratify their malice with his 
death? "Crucify him, Crucify him," was the dread- 
ful cry: "let his blood be on us and on our chil- 
dren !" When that shout ascended to heaven from 
thousands of his countrymen, how, think ye, did 
Jesus look ? what, think ye, did he feel ? — If the 
spear had entered his heart whilst life yet remain- 
ed, it had not inflicted so sharp a wound ! 

25 



278 Reflect Ions on the Tomb of Jesus. 

You know what crucifixion means — jou can never 
forget the tragedy of Golgotha. Insulted by his 
cruel murderers, forsaken by his affrighted follow- 
ers ; one friend unable to sustain the mournful spec- 
tacle, yet unable to turn away from it ; standing by 
his mother, crucified herself in the crucifixion of her 
Son ! These were the sights he saw when lifted 
upon the cross, and these the agonies in which he 
died. These were the steps by which the Son of 
God went down into the chambers of death ; through 
this series of sorrow, he entered into Joseph's tomb, 
— Into the grave, you too must enter, for it is the 
house appointed for all the living ; and though you 
descend not there through the violence of wicked 
men, you will probably descend through the vio- 
lence of keen diseases, and the tears of tender 
friends. No innocence of character, no usefulness 
of life, can redeem you from the grave, nor delay 
your arrival there, nor procure you warning of your 
death, nor defend you from affliction till it comes. 
We may trust our virtue to ensure to us the friend- 
ship of God, but, so long as there are evil passions 
in the world, the tomb of Jesus will admonish us, 
that we cannot trust it to preserve us from the en- 
mity of men. We may trust our virtue to make all 
things work together for our good, but we cannot 
trust it to preserve us from every thing, which for 
the present, we must call evil. There are no means 
by which we can certainly attain the happiness of 
this world, and when we have obtained it, there are 
no means by which we can be assured that it will 
continue long. 

Since then we cannot stay in this world, or, if we 
could stay, have no power to make its comforts per- 
manent, or even of assuring ourselves that our con- 
dition in it shall be easv ; since we live with the 



Refections on the Tomb of Jesus. 279 

scythe of death continually suspended over us, and 
know that "time and chance happeneth unto all," how 
absurd is it to be extravagantly fond of this life, how 
prudent, to be continually aspiring to a better ? — In 
the world to come there are no faithless friends, no 
dangerous enemies, no false accusers, no unrighteous 
judges ; in the world to come, there are no suffering 
relatives, no treacherous pleasures, no painful dis- 
cipline nor unwelcome changes. In that world 
there are no weeping eyes, no swelling hearts, no 
dying agonies : in that world there is nothing to cre- 
ate either apprehension or regret ; for there, virtue is 
not tried, but crowned. 

Whatever comforts you may meet with in the 
way thither, receive them thankfully, and enjoy them 
cheerfully ; it becomes, it behoves you so to do. But 
beware, my friends, that they do not seduce you 
from your duty. Beware, that for their sakes, you 
do no make yourselves unworthy of eternal life. 
Remember, Christians, that your citizenship is in 
heaven ; that you are strangers and pilgrims upon 
earth, and this world has no value to be compared 
with that, which it derives from the advantages it 
supplies, to fit yourselves for a better. 

Secondly, If we send our thoughts into the tomb 
where Jesus lay, they can hardly return from 
thence, without bringing something to reconcile us 
to the troubles of this present life. That tomb, sug- 
gests enough to moderate our expectations from the 
present world, and our attachment to it, without 
either depressing or disturbing our minds; without 
either exciting our anxieties about its future scenes, 
or rendering us impatient under the present. Above 
the world we ought to be, yet not discontented with 
it; ready for the glorious change we expect; re- 



280 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus* 

joicing in hope of so blessed a translation, yet, all 
the days of our appointed time, in patient waiting, 
until our change come. If it be a good reason why 
our delights should not rise too high, that flow- 
ery as the path may be, the road will soon turn 
down into the vale of death, it surely is as good 
an argument why we should not be disturbed by the 
rugged and thorny passages of life, that at last, 
when we are quite weary, we shall lie down and 
take our rest. 

In Joseph's tomb, how sweet is the sleep of Je- 
sus ! There is nothing in that peaceful retreat to 
trouble him. His pains were acute, but they over- 
powered him at last — he was weary of his suffer- 
ings, and now he is at rest. Now, there is no 
anguish in his countenance, and there never will 
be more. How placid is that slumber! He feels 
no more the cruel scourge ; he has forgotten the 
accursed tree. Ye priests and rulers, ye cannot 
wake him to renew your persecutions. Terrour 
has no more horrid spectacles to set before him. 
Pain has no more darts to throw, and death's last 
blow is struck. Peter, he thinks no more of thy 
denial ; even the infidelity of Judas disturbs him 
not. This peaceful sleep is not for a moment in- 
terrupted by the remembrance, either of insulting 
enemies, or forsaking friends. 

John may come hither now to weep over his 
friend, without afflicting him ; and here, Mary, thou 
mayst sit down, and lean over that beloved Son, 
and pour out all thy griefs into his bosom, for it 
cannot hurt him now. What is it to him that his 
body was so cruelly torn and mangled ? what is 
it to him that by cruel hands he was crucified and 
slain ? — No more will it be to thee, my Soul, when 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 281 

a few short days are over, that thou art grievous- 
ly afflicted now, or that still severer troubles are 
awaiting thee ! 

When a wicked world distresses thee, remember, 
Christian, that thou shalt presently retire, where 
the wicked cease from troubling. When the cares 
of life press heavy on thee, look forward to that 
calm retreat where all anxieties are composed. 
When adversity approaches thee, maintain thy 
courage, Christian; tell her, that there is, at no 
great distance, an asylum whither she cannot come. 
When the pains of death lay hold on thee, remem- 
ber that thy grave will be easier than thy bed : a 
dying Christian may find comfort in the thought, 
that they cannot last long. His slumbers in that 
land of silence will be as calm and easy as his Mas- 
ter's were ; and, in the mean time, whatever suf- 
ferings may await him, he has this best of conso- 
lations, that they are not the tokens of God's dis- 
pleasure ; not the ministers of a vindictive judge to 
announce to him the approach of more tremendous 
sufferings, but the discipline of a tender parent, to 
work out for him " a far more exceeding and eter- 
nal weight of glory." 

If indeed, the calamities of life were the evidences 
of God's rejection, who could abide his visitations ? 
Jesus was never dearer to him than when he cried, 
" my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?" — 
He never had more confidence in the friendship of 
God than when in his last words, amidst all the re- 
proach and agonies of the cross, be said, " Father, 
into thy hands I commend my spirit !" 

Christians, you may retain your confidence in 
God, even when he may appear to have forsaken 



282 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

you, even when your good conscience is the only 
comfort that remains; when all your circumstances 
are full of trouble, and all your sensations full of 
pain, you may still call him your God : he will 
answer to that faithful compellation, he will not leave 
you without the strength you need, or withhold 
from you the recompense for which you long. 

Thirdly, Whilst we turn our thoughts upon the 
place where Jesus lay, it is hardly possible that we 
should forget the fickleness of human favour. It 
may be lost without any fault of ours, and cannot 
be retained with certainty by our most assiduous 
endeavours to deserve it. It was the fury of the 
multitude that brought Jesus to his grave. Only 
h\e days before, that very multitude brought him 
in triumph to the temple — " Hosannah to the Son of 
David ; blessed is he that cometh in the name of the 
Lord:" — now what a change! "Away with this 
Man, crucify him, crucify him!" "Release to us 
Barabbas !" What had Jesus done, that a murde- 
rer should be preferred before him ? Jesus was^ what 
he ever had been ; holy, harmless, and undefiled ; — 
how iniquitous would it have been, from his dis- 
grace, to have inferred his guilt. Let us then not 
judge of characters by so precarious and dange- 
rous a rule, as the esteem which they either may 
possess or have possessed in the world. Let us 
contemn the littleness of courting popular ap- 
plause. 

How light a soul is that, which can be lifted up 
by the breath of man ! Who would be so credulous 
as to lean upon the wind ? or so weak as to grieve, 
because it may chance to blow against him ? Let 
us do our duty whatever be the event; and trust 
the master whom we serve, with our credit and es- 



Reflections of the Tomb of Jesus. 233 

teem. From the praise of men, let us appeal to 
the praise of him who made them ; his favour is 
our life, and although we should lose our life in 
seeking and maintaining his favour, it is not folly, it 
is not rashness, for his loving kindness is even bet- 
ter than life. 

God cannot die nor change ; but you cannot af- 
firm this of your earthly friends. You cannot affirm 
that there is any certain method either of obtaining 
human friendship or of preserving it. To be good, 
and to do good, is the most promising expedient, 
and yet even this is by no means infallible. But 
the friendship of God we may by this means cer- 
tainly obtain ; and by this means it may be infalli- 
bly preserved. His friendship will comfort us in 
the want of all other friendships, it will help us in 
that solemn hour when all other friendships fail. 
Moreover, in the mean time, if we have the favour 
of God, he has human favour at his disposal, for all 
hearts are in his hands : he will prolong to us our 
friendships if it be good for us to enjoy them ; and 
if our doings please the Lord, he has the power, 
and when it will not injure us, he will have the dis- 
position also, to " cause even our enemies to be at 
peace with us." 

Fourthly, If we think where Jesus lay, if, intend- 
ing to be the better for our meditations, and not 
merely to indulge ourselves in vain speculations, we 
employ them on the Son of God entombed in Jo- 
seph's sepulchre, it is very natural that by this 
means our love to God should be improved. Jesus 
gave himself according to the will of God, even 
the Father, that he might take us out of this pre- 
sent evil world: that, by the influence of his exam- 
ple, carried to the last perfection, and by the power 



284 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus* 

of his doctrine established on the strongest evi- 
dence, he might deliver us from the prevailing 
carelessness and impenitence of the world, and en- 
gage us " by patient continuance in well doing, to 
seek for glory, honour, and immortality." God com- 
manded, he obeyed. To his obedience we owe a 
debt which we never can repay. Is there nothing 
due to the authority that he so highly respected ? It 
was his obedience to God, in the service of our 
souls, that brought him, through the pains of cru- 
cifixion, to the grave. For you, Christ gave him- 
self; you own the value of the gift, and celebrate 
the beneficence of the giver. For you, God gave 
his Son ; in that gift did he make no sacrifice ? 
Was there no evidence of divine compassion and 
benevolence in a gift like this? — I here speak of 
the great and ever blessed God, in the language 
and with the sentiments of men ; but for this I have 
his own authority, for he has himself reasoned, 
from our feelings, to his own conduct. " Can a wo- 
man forget her sucking child, that she should not 
have compassion on the infant of her womb? Yea 
they may forget, yet will not I forget thee, Sion. 
How shall I give thee up, Ephraim ? Israel, how 
shall I deliver thee ? How shall I make you as Ad- 
mah and as Zeboim ? My heart is turned within me, 
and my repentings are kindled together." Did 
God love Ephraim and Israel, whose sins required 
to be chastened, better than he loved the meek and 
the holy Jesus ? 

What then will you render unto God for this his 
unspeakable gift? Obey the Son of God, who for 
his obedience unto death, is crowned with glory 
and honour ; and fulfilling the conditions of them, 
trust ye in the promises of God : for, " if he spar- 
ed not his Son, but delivered him up for us all. 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 28j 

how," saith the Apostle, " shall he not with him, 
also, freely give us all things ?" 



PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty ! As we call ourselves the 
disciples of thy beloved Son, may we verify our 
holy profession by our growing conformity to his 
example ! Like him it be our meat and drink to do 
thy will, and grant, that by meditating on the Tomb 
of Jesus, the world may be crucified to us, and we 
unto the world. 

The friendship of man is as the morning cloud, 
or as the early dew, that soon passeth away. — Raise 
us, we beseech thee, into such superiority to that 
censure or applause of men, which would deter or 
seduce us from the path of duty, that no tempta- 
tion which the world can offer, may ever shake our 
constancy in thy service, or at all abate our love to 
thee ! Looking unto Jesus the leader and finisher of 
the faith, who for the joy that was set before him 
endured the cross, despising the shame, and is sat 
down at the right hand of the throne of God, may 
we not be weary nor faint in our minds, but may we 
run with patience and alacrity the race that is set 
before us ! 



26 



DISCOURSE XVIII 



REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF JESUS, TEND- 
ING TO IMPROVE THE CHRISTIAN TEMPER. 



PART III. 



Matthew xxviii. 6. 
Come see the place where the Lord lay. 

When we send our thoughts into the Tomb of Je- 
sus, and there image to ourselves that light of the 
world extinguished, that friend of man, that servant 
of the most high God, whose joy it was, from morn- 
ing until night to be doing good, cut off from all 
usefulness, and cruelly disabled from pursuing it, 
what heart is not fired with indignation against 
those wicked hands by whom he was crucified and 
slain ? What! nail him to the cross, who bare your 
burdens, who pitied your infirmities* who taught 
you the most important knowledge, who conversed 
among you with the most engaging sweetness, who 
fed you in the wilderness, who healed your sick- 
nesses, and who raised your dead ? Unfeeling mul- 
titude, who could urge with so much clamour, a de- 
mand, at once so ungrateful, so cruel, and unjust ! 
Ye Priests and Rulers, is this the spirit of your re- 
ligion and your laws ? Do they give encouragement 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 287 

unto evil doers, and afford no sanctuary unto those 
who do well ? — Do they connive at the spirit of li- 
centiousness and cruelty, and afford not so much as 
a toleration unto truth and virtue ? — Pilate, if thou 
hadst obeyed the dictates of thy conscience, though 
thou mightest not have saved thy prisoner, and must, 
perhaps, have lost thy life, thou wouldst not have 
lost thy peace ! But thy crime is light, in compari- 
son of theirs. Over a more tumultuous people, a 
more irreligious priesthood, and a more lawless ge- 
neration, thou couldst not have been appointed go- 
venour. 

But come, my heart, forgive them, for the Lord 
forgave them; pity them, for he pitied them ! They 
were men, they were our brethren, they were 
among those, to whom, by our Lord's express com- 
mand, repentance and remission of sins were first 
preached, after he was risen from the dead. Some 
of them, many of them did repent. They were 
pricked to the heart when Peter spake to them of 
their crimes. They received the doctrine of him, 
whom they had persecuted unto death ; they became 
the steadfast professors and the zealous preachers of 
his gospel, and were honoured with the gifts of the 
holy spirit. 

Perhaps, when repentance began to be preached 
at Jerusalem, that very Priest who first proposed to 
lie in wait for Jesus, that very man who first stipulat- 
ed with the traitor Judas for his price ; that very 
witness who deposed against him what was neither 
criminal nor true ; that very ruler, who was foremost 
to declare him worthy of death; these, perhaps, 
when repentance began to be preached at Jerusa- 
lem in the name of Jesus, were the first to hear, 
and to repent. This, however, is most certain, that 



238 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

through their hands, some of whom had a dreadful 
share in this bloody tragedy, we have received the 
gospel. The first subjects of it were converted 
from among the enemies of its author ; and the day 
is coming, when, as we hope, when, as we believe, 
many who invoked his blood upon themselves and 
upon their children, shall stand with us at the right 
hand of the son of man. 

Let us continue steadfast in the faith, that is 
justified by such witnesses ; let us adore the cle- 
mency that can pardon such guilt, and turn our 
indignation from the murderers of Jesus, against 
the prejudices that misled, and the vices that cor- 
rupted them. Let us beware of those prejudices 
that would alienate us from the truth ; and of those 
vices, that would make the truth our enemy ! 

What was it that deprived so many of the Jews 
of the benefits they might have derived from the 
preaching of our Lord ? What was it that deprived 
him of the honours that were due to him as their 
Messiah, as their promised and expected King ? — 
He was of Nazareth, an obscure and poor town of 
Galilee, whence nothing good could come; he affect- 
ed no worldly pomp, and he promised no worldly 
blessings ! — If Jesus had employed his power of 
working miracles, to aggrandize his country, and to 
gratify his followers with wealth and power, they 
would have adored him : Because he promised no 
such happiness to his friends ; because his doctrine 
reproved, instead of encouraging, their worldly ex- 
pectations ; because they had nothing to expect 
from him in this world, they agreed that he should 
not continue in it. Their woridliness caused his 
death ; it rendered them insensible to the excel- 
lence of his doctrine, unimpressible by the virtues 
of his character, incapable of restraint, even by those 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus* 289 

awful miracles, which amply testified, that God was 
with him. 

The love of this world was the death of Je- 
sus; this was the evil passion that instigated the 
cruel resentment of the priests and rulers, that 
prompted Judas to betray, and that prevailed on 
Pilate to desert him. 

Judas loved the world ; he was impatient to pos- 
sess more of its enjoyments ; if his master were ever 
to assume a kingdom, it must be, he thought, when 
his life was in the power of his enemies ; and if Jesus 
had no kingdom to assume, Judas would at least be a 
gainer by the price of his infidelity. Pilate loved the 
world ; if he could have borne the resentment of the 
Jews; if he durst have put his honour and his life 
upon the issue of a trial before Caesar, he would 
not have condemned the guiltless. From the love 
of the world arise almost all the mischiefs of human 
life ; the hatred, the jealousy, the animosities, the 
cruelties, the injuries, and oppressions, that, from 
time to time, disturb the peace of families, of neigh- 
bourhoods, of societies, and of kingdoms. 

Let not such a passion strike its root into your 
hearts; for you know not of what benefits it may 
deprive, or into what crimes it may betray you. It 
may prevent your reception of the truth; it may 
render you disobedient to its dictates ; it may stir 
you up to enmitj against its advocates; it may cause 
you to " deny the Lord who bought you," to betray 
the interests of truth and virtue, to " crucify unto 
yourselves the Son of God afresh, and to put him 
unto open shame." 

Christians, consider what you are doing, when 
you make the world, and the things of the world, 



290 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus, 



whether it be its esteem, its pleasures, or its inte- 
rest, essential to your peace ! — what you are doing 
when you are indulging keen desires after them, or 
permitting your delight in these things^ to grow 
upon your hearts. You are encouraging and strength- 
ening those dangerous passions which betrayed the 
Jews into all the guilt of having despised and reject- 
ed the most important gift of heaven, and, finally, of 
having murdered the holy one of God ! 

When the world is spreading before you its al- 
lurements, send your thoughts into the place where 
Jesus lay. Tell the world, 4 You crucified my 
Lord ;' ask the world ' would you destroy my soul ? 
That I may have more of your vain amusements, of 
your unsubstantial honours, of your sensual entertain- 
ments, your precarious possessions, than virtue can 
command, or innocence will permit, shall I disgrace 
the christian character ? Shall I cause the name of 
Christ to be blasphemed ? Shall I destroy my hopes 
in that city " which hath foundations, whose builder 
and maker is God ?" — I am a Citizen of Heaven; 
my treasures, my real treasures, are in that world 
where my eternity must be spent, and the fashion 
of which passeth not away. Avaunt ye seducing 
vanities; be at rest ye worldly passions; I have 
learnt from him who was slain by you, to know the 
enemies that war against my soul. I am going 
whither he is gone, as fast as the wings of time can 
convey me ; speedily, I shall have no more concern 
in this world, than my master had while he slept in 
Joseph's tomb. I will keep my eyes upon my cru- 
cified Lord : — the reproach of Christ, is greater 
treasure than the riches of the world. — J have sworn 
fidelity to Jesus, as the Captain of my salvation, and 
" the life that I now live in the flesh, must be by the 
faith of the Son of God." ' 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 



29 



When, Christians, when will ye believe, that ti 
be carnally minded is death ? When will ye believ* 
that the honour of the gospel and the interests c 
your own souls are dependent upon the spiritualit 
of your hearts, and the purity of your minds ? Hon 
long will ye continue unashamed to call yourselve 
the friends of Jesus, whilst ye remain the enemies c 
his cross, " by minding earthly things ? ,? — There i 
but one unambiguous proof of your friendship t 
him ; but one undeceitful principle on which yo 
may expect his friendship ; namely, your abhorrenc 
of the vices he condemned, and your delight in a 
the virtues that he practised. 

In the fifth place — To turn our meditations to ou 
Lord deposited in Joseph's tomb, will natural] 
increase our esteem and love of him. Virtue i 
in every circumstance, an amiable object, but nev€ 
more amiable than when in distress. When th 
tear stands trembling in her eye, and the groan th* 
distends her heart is withheld from breaking forth 
then it is, that she draws out all our soul towarc 
her. In her honour and prosperity we love hei 
in her affliction and disgrace, we love her with 
tenderer affection. To that fortitude which cannc 
be overcome, to that fidelity which cannot be shakei 
we look up with reverence and admiration. In th 
very countenance of patience, meekness, and resi^ 
nation, there are the sweetest and most powerfi 
attractions. If it be for our sakes that virtue is di 
tressed, if she suffer in our cause, what is there wan 
ing to confirm her right to our esteem and love ?- 
Christians ! surely one look into the grave of J< 
sus, might cure you of that coldness and indifK 
rence, with which, at sometimes it may be, yo 
are wont to regard him. Can any one reflect, b 
what a road, and with what a temper, he passe 



292 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesiis. 

through the valley of death into the mansions of the 
dead, and maintain a cold indifference towards him ? 
What a heart must that be, in which a scene like 
this cannot raise the sentiments of admiration, es- 
teem, and tenderness, or, in which, those senti- 
ments, in the contemplation of such a scene, can be 
repressed ? 

What was it that brought your Lord, thus dis- 
honoured to the grave ? Did they fix him to the 
fatal tree that he might go about to do them good 
no more ? Did they send him to this land of silence, 
that they might hear from him the glad tidings of for- 
giveness, and of eternal life, no more ? Christians ! 
that cross would never have been stained with the 
blood of Jesus, if the world had not been defiled 
with guilt ; that sepulchre never would have held 
his lifeless body, if men had not broken the law of 
God. Ruin was before them if they returned not 
to their obedience, and Jesus died, to bring them 
unto God. He died, that our hopes of mercy might 
revive ; he died, that having lived to God in this 
world, we might, for ever, live with him in a better. 
He died, that according to the promise of his father, 
he might become the author of eternal life unto aH 
those who obey him. 

Was he condemned at the bar of Pilate, that 
we might not be condemned at the bar of God ? 
Did he despise all this shame, that we might not be 
overcome by the temptations of the world ? Chris- 
tians, you are to live for ever — what then do ye 
not owe unto him who hath abolished death ? The 
love of Christ is essential to the character of a Chris- 
tian — beware, that by your indifference towards 
him, ye render not yourselves unworthy of that 
holy name by which ye are called ! 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 29^1 

Hitherto our reflections on the sepulchre of Jo- 
seph have taken their rise from the consideration 
that the Son of God was deposited within it. 1 
would now suggest, in conclusion, a practical re- 
mark or two, founded upon another reflection, 
viz. that he did not continue to lie there. — " He is 
not here," said the angel, "for he is risen, as he said." 

How adorable is God, how wonderful in work- 
ing, how excellent in counsel, how abundant in 
means ! He speaks, and it is done. Although we 
were entombed in the bowels of the earth; though 
rocks and hills were heaped upon our graves, and 
legions of soldiers employed to prevent all ap- 
proach ; one angel, with a divine commission, one 
command from the mouth of God, would dis- 
perse the guard, and rend the rocks, and heal the 
wounds of death, and raise the dead to immortality ! 

Had you been sitting in the sepulchre of Jesus 
when the fortieth hour from his crucifixion was ex- 
piring, you would have seen the Lord, dead, cold, 
and unimpressible as the rock he lay upon, and all 
things around him, the guard who watched there 
excepted, still as the midnight calm : — the next mo- 
ment would have shown you, the earth trembling, 
the Angel of the Lord coming down from Heaven, 
the sepulchre burst open, the guard confounded, 
and Jesus going forth invested with immortal life ! 
In a moment the spirit took possession of the body 
whence it had retired ; in a moment that heart was 
healed which the spear had pierced, and that coun- 
tenance, late so pale and deathly, illumined with 
all the wisdom and all the virtue, which it was 
ever wont to express. 

" How marvellous are the works of God ! He 
is great, and his name is great in might ; who in 

27 



294 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

the Heavens can be compared unto the Lord, who 
among the sons of the mighty can be likened unto our 
God?" He is pursuing his designs, even when he 
seems to have forgotten them, and is carrying on 
his purposes by the very means that are employed 
to defeat them. The Jews did not interrupt his 
counsels when they laid Jesus in the grave. From 
that sepulchre, where all the hopes of his despond- 
ing disciples were entombed, the deliverer of Is- 
rael came forth, invested with supreme power, and 
aided, through the death he had endured, to send 
salvation to the ends of the earth. The ways of 
God are not as our ways, neither are his thoughts 
as our thoughts! 

In the sixth place— When we look into the tomb 
of Jesus, and see that he is not there, we are una- 
voidably reminded of Zophar's observation, that 
" the triumph of the wicked is short." Triumph, 
indeed, for a time, they may ; the enemies of Jesus 
triumphed when they saw him conveyed to the si- 
lent tomb. They persecuted him, till they destroy- 
ed him ; they took away his mortal life, but to do 
more, was beyond their power; they could not pre- 
vent his resurrection ; and the glories and felicities to 
which he rose were as far above their reach, as be- 
yond their comprehension. 

Christians, be not envious when you see the 
prosperity of the wicked ; it is not long that they 
will triumph over you : keep the road you have 
wisely chosen ; a few fleeting days will bring you to 
the land where all men shall receive according to 
their works. 

Sinners, consider your condition ; you are op- 
posing his righteous will, against whom all opposi- 



Reflections ow the Tomb of Jesus. 295 

tion is vain. Happy, as you may be, in the sun- 
shine of prosperity, even then, your happiness is 
not to be compared with that of the genuine Chris- 
tian, although clouds and darkness may oversha- 
dow his dwelling! The path of the just is as the 
morning light which shineth more and more, until 
ali his hopes and wishes are accomplished, in the 
glories of the perfect day; the way of the wicked 
is like the evening shades, enlivened it may be for 
a while by the varied colours of a setting sun, but 
which deepen and still deepen on the traveller as 
he proceeds, till at length, finding no road to the 
shelter which he wants, and stumbling at he knows 
not what, he is suddenly involved in all the horrours 
of midnight, cold, and darkness. 

If there be any thing concerning which we can 
certainly be assured that it is an irreversible de- 
cree of God, it is this, which, from early times, he 
has again and again committed to his ministers and 
messengers. " Say ye to the righteous, that it shall 
be well with him, for he shall eat of the fruit of 
his doings ; but wo unto the wicked, for it shall 
be ill with him, for the reward of his hands shall 
be given him.'" It is the doctrine of the law, it is 
the doctrine of the prophets,and it is the doctrine of 
the gospel also.— Do you allege, sinners, that al- 
though you be not righteous, yet you are not wretch- 
ed ? Alas ! your prosperity, instead of fostering your 
presumption, should alarm your apprehension. 
When the husbandman has cast the seed into his 
ground, does he hastily conclude, because the har- 
vest comes not immediately, that it never will ar- 
rive ? or, if he sow tares in his field, does he vainly 
expect, that wheat will be the produce ? 

Tell me, sinner, what rule of the divine conduct, 
what maxim of the divine government was ever vio- 



296 Reflections on (he Tomb of Jesus. 

lated ? In what instance has the counsel of the Al- 
mighty been successfully opposed ? It is the decree 
of God that we should come into this world, weak, 
helpless, and ignorant; dependent for everything 
on the care and kindness of our progenitors ; was 
ever any man born otherwise? It is the decree of 
God that no man shall take up his lasting abode in 
this world ; has ever any man discovered the means 
. of acting in opposition to this decree, and of mak- 
ing himself a permanent settlement here below ? It 
is the decree of God, that according as is the con- 
duct of our early life, such shall be the habits and 
character of our future years ; can any man spend 
his childhood and youth in dissipation, indolence, 
vice, and folly, and, in his following years have no 
ignorance whereof to be ashamed, no habits of 
idleness and sensuality, wherewith to reproach him- 
self? 

By divine appointment, by the connexions which 
God has unalterably established, the futurities of the 
coming world, depend as certainly upon the conduct 
of this present life, as the futurities of this world 
depend upon its preceding periods. — You might as 
well hope to grow wise in the school of folly, vir- 
tuous in the school of vice, or to be made immortal 
by the deadliest poison, as to attain happiness by 
disobeying the commands of God. That you shall 
be judged hereafter, is as much a condition of your 
existence here, as that you shall die. And do you 
know what judgment is ? It is the just accommoda- 
tion of your circumstances to your character, ac- 
cording to the measure of your merit or your guilt. 
The very same connexion that the Creator and Ru- 
ler of the universe has inseparably established, be- 
tween any other cause and its natural effects, be- 
tween any other condition and its correspondent con- 
sequences, the same has he established between ho- 
liness and happiness. If you have not yet experi- 



Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 297 

enced, that sin produces sorrow, it is because this is 
only your seed time, and that the time of harvest is 
not yet come. As easily may you build a house 
upon the surface of the ocean, as attempt to lay 
the foundation of true and durable enjoyment in 
the contempt of God's counsels, and the disobedi- 
ence of his laws. 

In the last place — To look into the tomb where 
Jesus lay, to employ our thoughts on the se- 
pulchre from which he arose, has a natural tenden- 
cy to confirm and encourage the joys and hopes of 
virtue. 

Christians, there is a sense in which you may 
adopt the language of the Psalmist, " I have set the 
Lord always before me ; because he is at my right 
hand I shall not be moved." Yes, Christians, you 
may take up the Apostle's triumph. If you breathe 
his spirit, you may enjoy his transport ; " Blessed 
be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
who, of his abundant mercy, by the resurrection of 
his Son from the dead, hath begotten us again unto 
a lively hope of an inheritance incorruptible, unde- 
filed, and that fadeth not away." "Because he 
lives, ye shall live also." Let us truly enjoy our 
lives in devoting them unto God — let us trust him, 
who gave our blessed Lord the victory over death, to 
befriend us also, in the dying hour. 

We will take the comfort suggested by the 
empty sepulchre of him, by whose name we are 
called ; we will take it for our departed friends ; 
we will take it for our dying selves. In the Hea- 
venly World we shall find our pious fathers, and 
thither our pious children shall hereafter repair. In 
that glorious morning when we shall have got this 



298 Reflections on the Tomb of Jesus. 

conflict over, we shall tell the king of terr ours, that 
the victory is ours! 

" Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stead- 
fast, immovable, always abounding in the work of 
the Lord, for as much as ye know that your labour 
shall not be in vain, in the Lord." 



PRAYER. 

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who can 
understand his errours ? cleanse thou us from secret 
faults, keep back thy servants also from presump- 
tuous sins, let them not have dominion over us. 
Deliver us from that carnal mind which is enmity 
against thee, and from that love of this world which 
so fatally opposes itself to every thing which is 
truly excellent. 

Blessed be thy name that thou hast laid help for 
us, on one, who is able to save unto the uttermost 
all those who come unto thee by him ! In the gos- 
pel dispensation, in the doctrine of Jesus Christ our 
Lord, in his obedience unto death, and his exalta- 
tion to a kingdom, thou hast furnished us with all 
desirable advantages to deliver us from the domin- 
ion of sin, or to preserve us from it. May the love 
of Christ constrain us to live not unto ourselves, 
but unto him. May we approve ourselves his faith- 
ful subjects by a conscientious obedience to his 
laws, by a growing resemblance to his character, 
and by our sincere concern to preserve the peace, 
and to promote the interests of his kingdom. What- 
soever things are just, true, pure, lovely, venera- 
ble, and of good report, if there be any virtue, if 
there be any praise, on these things may we medi- 
tate, and in these things may we ever be studious 
to excel. 



DISCOURSE XIX. 

DAVID r S MORNING HYMN OF PRAISE, 



Psalm xix. 1....7. 

1. The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament show- 
eth his haudy work. 2. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night 
unto night showeth knowledge. 3. There is no speech nor lan- 
guage, where their voice is not heard. 4. Their sound is gone out 
through all the earth, and their words to the ends of the world : in 
them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun : 5. Who is as a bridegroom 
coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a strong man to run a race. 
6. His going forth is from the end of the heaven ; and his circuit 
unto the ends of it : and there is nothing hid from the heat 
thereof. 

It has been objected that the celebrated Author 
of this Ode, and of many other exquisitely beauti- 
ful devotional pieces, was not made a better man by 
his devotion, that his moral conduct was not im- 
proved by it, and that his memory, in one fatal in- 
stance at least, is stigmatized by crimes of the deep- 
est die. That in that instance he was deplorably 
deficient in the virtues of self-government ; that one 
unhappy deviation from the paths of rectitude, in 
his case, as in that of a thousand others, led on to 
another, and to another, still more flagrant and 
atrocious; that being raised to the pinnacle of hu- 
man greatness, the power he thought he possessed 
of extricating himself from the ignominy of his 
vices, supplied an additional temptation, which he 



tiOO David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

had not the resolution to withstand, no one surely 
will deny : let his example be held up as an awful 
proof of the seducibie nature of the human heart, 
and " let him who standeth, take heed lest he fall." 

But, does it follow from the inefficacy of David's 
piety, on some particular occasions, to overcome 
the fatal effects of headstrong passion, that there- 
fore, respecting the whole of his character, it was 
of no avail ? Contrast with this the many virtues 
by which he was distinguished, his fortitude, his 
magnanimity, his ardent zeal for the prosperity and 
happiness of his people. Contrast with this is 
deep repentance, when the Prophet of God awak- 
ened his sleeping conscience, by the beautiful para- 
ble of the one Ewe Lamb. Can any one read 
the heart-rending strains of deep contrition in his 
penitential Psalms, and entertain a doubt that his 
piety did not exceedingly meliorate and improve 
his character ? 

But it is not our design at present to weigh in the 
balance, the faults and the virtues of this eminent 
person. His virtues surely we may safely imitate, 
notwithstanding the dark shades by which they 
were sometimes overcast. Like him, when we 
awake in the morning, enabled to return with re- 
newed cheerfulness and vigour to the several duties 
of our respective stations, we also may humble 
ourselves before the presence of God. Like him, 
at morning, at evening, at noon and at midnight, 
may we pour out our praises and thanksgivings. 
Like him, we may begin and end the day with 
some serious inquiry into our own hearts and lives; 
with some devout reflections on the mercy and 
providence of God, or some pious meditation on his 
works or in his law. When other duties of more 



IUwUs Menu** Hymm of Fwwim. 



:z'.r i: , : -, :i r.z: ::? 
they were bis, so these also should be 

and delight : and bj these tmi 
ma j endeavour to attain that sensibility of heart 

, - 
c-:: .;•. e ;:'G:c. :_:.•: e.ev::.;: r: :-v; - ;; 



: 

aod by which he stand s 
ished amoosr the sons of 






sou! ^rtA-.r.;-^ ;.:: ■..:- in;-: :'= 
wards that God, whose onriif 
omnipotence be acknow 
that he was alone, walking in 
hill of Sioa : meditating on ti 

the gkrre \Tith which 

surrounded, r ?ject h< 

devotion, afforded bim new oi 
and of praise, and seeme . 
greatness and the goodnc?- 

^tnally K 
are perpetually preserved 



e shades of night were probable now pin "ti n g 
a way, aod the dawn of daj beginning to display 

\ ascendent beauties : all nature with h nw ietf 

risen as it were from the dead; and 

as darkness drew aside her curtatu from the world, 

.d with the glorious sight, he indulged the 
rapture it inspired \n the genuine spin: -tion. 



302 David's Morning Hymn of Praise, 

AH the happiness he beheld, he referred to the first 
great source of good ; all the power which was 
displayed before him, he ascribed to the divine en- 
ergy and operation ; and all the wisdom discove- 
rable in the constitution of nature and the various 
dependences and connexions of its principles, he 
imputed to the great original, by whose word the 
worlds were formed, and who made them all, in 
number, weight, and measure. 

Here, as in a mirror, he beheld the face of his 
Creator; he considered every expression of con- 
tentment or of gladness displayed in the animal 
creation, as a hymn of praise and of thanksgiving 
to the Almighty, and every being that he looked 
upon, as a pillar erected to his honour. The whole 
fabrick of the universe seemed as one mighty monu- 
ment, raised to perpetuate the conviction of his ex- 
istence, his universal government, and the remem- 
brance of his transcendent excellence. * How as- 
tonishing,' would he exclaim, ' are the degrees of 
excellence I can observe between the reptile that 
crawls beneath my feet, and that vital, rational, im- 
mortal image of God himself, that animates this 
clay-built body ! No power of mine, raised as I am 
to the pinnacle of human greatness, could make a 
pile of grass, or even create the smallest particle of 
matter. The secret energy that sustains so won- 
derfully this various fabrick, that feeds these vital 
powers, that directs, combines, and actuates their 
operations ; that prolongs them from time to time, 
that renews them in their respective seasons, and 
that carries them through their successive changes 
to their appointed periods, surpasses all my con- 
ceptions, and eludes my most diligent inquiries. O 
God, the more I am conversant with thy works, the 
more arguments do I gather of thy perfect skill, of 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 303 

thine infinite wisdom; the more instances do I col- 
lect of thy boundless goodness ; the greater convic- 
tion do I feel of my incapacity to fathom the depth 
of thy counsels, and of my total inability to show 
forth all thy praise ! How manifold are thy works, 
in wisdom hast thou made them all ; all thy crea- 
tures praise thee ; the earth is full of thy riches, and 
so also is that great and wide sea, the emblem of thine 
own immensity, where my views are lost, and my 
prospects are unbounded!' 

Whilst thus the thoughts of the Psalmist were 
ranging through the earth, and gathering from every 
object that met his eye, some fragrant instance of 
praise and of thanksgiving ; whilst thus, in a manner 
perfectly becoming the intellectual and moral nature, 
he was presenting his morning sacrifice, the sun arose 
— he turned to behold that glorious luminary, and 
struck with its majestick splendour, his thoughts 
were instantly transferred from earth to heaven. 
His heart already glowing with sentiments of piety, 
the whole current of his affections set so strongly 
towards God, that it could not be impeded or divert- 
ed, but bearing forwards, and carrying every thing 
along with it, augmented by every object that it met 
with, he proceeded in the same strain of thought, 
and the same spirit of devotion, to adopt the lan- 
guage of the text. ' Nor is thy bounty, O God, 
confined to the earth on which we dwell ; nor are 
thy perfections written alone on the dust of the 
ground, or merely enstamped upon every animal 
that treads there. — That azure canopy which is 
stretched out above, with all the shining ornaments 
that distinguish it, an infinitely greater, and an in- 
finitely nobler fabrick, acknowledges the same 
original, and derives alike its splendours, and its 
existence, from our God.' " Of old did he lay the 



304 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

foundations of the earth, and the heavens also are 
the work of his hands." ' While things terrestrial 
are so loud and so harmonious in his praise, celes- 
tial things are neither silent nor unintelligible. Ask 
them, if the splendours with which they shine be 
their own ? Make reason their interpreter, and they 
answer, No.' ki The heavens declare the glory of God, 
and the firmament showeth his handy work.'" 8 Look 
upon the firmament, was it always thus arrayed ? — 
No; to the eye of reason, to the judicious and dis- 
cerning mind, there appear those marks of deriva- 
tion and dependence which condemn the worshipper 
of the celestial luminaries ; which demonstrate that 
they also arc creatures of the same power, that made 
the earth and its inhabitants : so similar in all its 
laws, so closely connected with them in all its inte- 
rests, we are not permitted to ascribe to them any 
higher honour, than that of being the heralds of our 
Creator's praise.' 

" The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
firmament showeth his handy work. Day unto day 
uttereth speech, and night unto night, showeth 
knowledge." fc It is not in one place or aspect of 
the heavens only, that the glory of God is revealed: 
the noon day splendour displays indeed that uncre- 
ated and eternal source of light, in which there is no 
darkness at all ; but it is not less clearly, nor less 
abundantly manifested in the more numerous, though 
more distant suns, which we see burning in the mid- 
night firmament.' 

4 Not merely once has this glorious host displayed 
itself in the cause of religion and of God. Once to 
have beheld the starry firmament ; once to have 
seen the sun " rejoicing in his strength;" to have 
enjoyed one cheerful day, to have waked through 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 305 

one awful night, though from henceforth the amaz- 
ing vision had never more been exhibited to our 
sight, must have left behind them such impressions, 
as no time could have effaced ; such matter of seri- 
ous contemplation, as could not have failed to dis- 
pose the thoughtful mind to religious sentiment and 
devout affection ; such deep conviction, such re- 
joicing evidence of an eternal and infinitely perfect 
Being, who made the universe, and rules it, as could 
hardly have failed to create an ardent desire of ob- 
taining a more perfect knowledge of him ; a sincere 
delight in the contemplation of his perfections, and 
the study of his will, and a solicitous endeavour to 
obtain the consolation of his friendship.' 

Thus, in like manner as we are told that those 
glorious spirits, who dwell in his immediate presence, 
cease not day or night to celebrate in the most per- 
fect manner the high praises of the Lord, so the 
Psalmist has most beautifully and justly represented 
the celestial luminaries as declaring their Creator's 
Glory, and never ceasing to declare it: as delighted 
with the employment and never weary of the work ; 
as burning with a fervent zeal to signalize themselves 
in the service of their Maker; as actuated with an 
intelligent and rational solicitude that their ministry 
should prove successful with the sons of men ; suc- 
cessful to impress their minds with a sense of their 
duty unto God, and to engage them in the pious 
contemplation of his excellencies, and a cheerful con- 
formity to his will. The day therefore, when it has 
finished its course, when it is taking its leave of 
those whom it has been cheering and enlightening, 
and is now departing into eternity, to return no more 
unto mankind ; is most beautifully described by this 
sacred Poet as looking backwards to address its suc- 
cessor ; committing to the coming day, the ministry, 



306 David* s Morning Hymn of Pra ise. 

which itself was laying down ; urging the next rising 
morning, to begin with the Almighty's praise ; to 
prolong the instructive lesson, which itself could 
stay no longer to inculcate ; and to resume those 
pious admonitions, which itself could repeat no 
more. " Day unto day uttereth speech," and in 
like manner, proceeds the Psalmist, " night unto 
night showeth knowledge." As if the night also, not 
contented with what itself had revealed of the awful 
grandeur and boundless majesty of God ; not satis- 
fied with the lessons which itself had read to the 
serious and rational spectator, of its solemn shades, 
and its living fires ; leaves it, when the returning 
day has put an end to its own ministry, leaves it in 
pious charge with the night that shall succeed, to 
resume its doctrine, to continue its instructions ; and, 
when its own course is likewise finished, to teach 
its successor, the night that shall follow, in what 
manner to employ its powers and its voice to per- 
petuate the Creator's praise- — " Night unto night 
showeth knowledge." 

In this manner, with the greatest propriety, as 
well as with the most lively eloquence, does the 
Psalmist represent to us the uniformity of Nature, 
and the regular revolutions of the heavens, with 
the evidence they afford of that kind and power- 
ful Providence from which their motions proceed, 
and by which they are preserved and governed. 
The marks of their Creator's infinite perfection are 
indeed so clearly impressed upon the heavens 
above, that no serious observer can err, either con- 
cerning their origin, or concerning the amiable and 
adorable character of their great Author. 

To express this sentiment, in itself so plain, so 
just and true, we see the Psalmist has employed 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 307 

the noblest imagery, he has ascribed to the hea- 
vens, intelligence and speech : he has animated 
the celestial orbs with the fervours of intense de- 
votion, and has endued them with a voice that may 
be distinctly heard by all the inhabitants of this 
world. He describes their alternations, their dif- 
ferent states and conditions, as speaking one unto 
another in the audience of mankind, concerning the 
infinite perfection of that uncreated mind, from 
whose good pleasure and whose power these vi- 
cissitudes proceed. 

Having thus, with this bold, yet not unjustifiable 
sublimity, celebrated the skill of the Creator as 
manifested in that majestick canopy which he hath 
spread over our heads, it seems as if the thought 
had struck his mind, that perhaps his imagination 
had been too daring in its flight; and that the chief 
of the choir, to whom this Psalm was addressed, 
and the congregation by whom it was to be employ- 
ed in the publick worship of God, might be startled 
and confounded, and doubtful in what manner they 
were to understand the royal Poet, when they heard 
him ascribing to the heavens, intelligence and 
speech. They saw the sun from day to day re- 
peating his accustomed journey, but they heard no 
voice from heaven ; they saw the moon and stars, 
from night to night travelling their appointed 
course, but the most solemn silence was observed. 
To obviate any doubts or difficulties, that from this 
cause might disturb and perplex the mind, the 
Psalmist goes on in the same sublime and pious 
strain in which he had began. — u No speech, no 
language, their voice is not heard." 

The beauty of the original is absolutely lost, the 
sense exceedingly misrepresented, and the connex- 



308 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

ion strangely violated, as it stands in our version ; 
for, the Psalmist is not here asserting that the voice 
of the heavens is universally heard, and is univer- 
sally understood by people of all nations and all 
languages; this, he asserts in the next verse, and is 
here only preparing the way for that observation. 
Here, he acknowledges, that in strict propriety, in 
the reality and truth of things, these heavenly lu- 
minaries have no speech nor language, no voice to 
be perceived by the external sense ; nevertheless 
that their sound (not their line, as it stands in our 
version, which is another errour that has greatly im- 
paired the beauty and perspicuity of this inimitable 
ode) is gone forth through all the earth, and their 
words unto the ends of the world. 

The sense and connexion of the whole passage, 
literally interpreted, is as follows, viz. 

" The heavens declare the glory of God, and the 
firmament proclaims his workmanship. Day unto 
day uttereth speech, and night unto night teacheth 
knowledge: no speech have they indeed, no lan- 
guage, and their voice is not heard ; yet, into all 
the world is their sound gone forth, and to the end 
of the earth, their words." i. e. It is true, the 
heavens have no audible voice, but they have lan- 
guage, which all rational spectators can understand. 
If they merely spake to the external sense, by those 
only would they be understood whose language 
might be similar to theirs — they address not the ear, 
but the understanding; their language is universal ; 
it is heard from one end of the creation to the other; 
understood, not only throughout this earth of ours, 
but throughout all the universe of God ; and where- 
ever there is an intelligent spectator, whether here 
or in any other world, there, they proclaim the 
goodness of their Creator. 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 309 

Having thus celebrated the glory of God, as in 
general displayed in the firmament of heaven, he 
proceeds to take more especial notice of that sub- 
lime object, which seems first to have drawn his 
meditations to the heavens — the sun just rising in 
his sight. 

" In them" (i. e. in the heavens,) he proceeds, 
" hath God set a tabernacle for the sun." Here, 
if I am not mistaken, the Psalmist speaks of that 
purple light, which is the forerunner of the morn- 
ing ; of those painted clouds which usually adorn 
the eastern heavens before the rising of the sun. 
On these he had been gazing, expecting that ere 
long this glorious luminary would step forth from 
behind them, and show himself unto the world. 
Very naturally and very beautifully the Psalmist 
considered these as a tabernacle, a splendid pavilion 
wrought by the hand of God ; where, this great 
source of day, during the shadows of the night, had 
reposed himself, and from which he was about to 
issue forth, with renewed brightness and recruited 
strength. This conception he prolongs, and pur- 
sues the idea through the following verses. 

" In them hath he, (God) set a tabernacle for 
the sun, who," adds the Psalmist, " is as a bride- 
groom coming out of his chamber, rejoicing as a 
strong man to run a race. His going forth is from 
the end of the heaven, and his circuit to the end of 
it, and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof." 
— 4 How vast, how amazing is the course he must 
finish before night, from that extremity of heaven 
whence he is now issuing forth, through the im- 
measurable vault that bends above my head, to the 
extremest west, where I last night watched his de- 
parting beams. Nor, is the extent, or the rapidity 

29 



310 David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 

of his yearly circuit which forms our seasons and 
their changes, less wonderful than those of his 
diurnal round, which constitutes our day and night; 
by means of one, the inhabitants of every land en- 
joy in regular succession the benefits of light and 
darkness ; by the other, at uniform and equal pe- 
riods, every climate is blest with the necessary in- 
terchanges of seed time and harvest, summer and 
winter; and thus are the benefits of his enlivening 
warmth, equally and liberally dispensed to every 
portion of this globe, and to every creature under 
heaven.' 

Thus have 1 endeavoured to illustrate to you the 
true sense, beauty, and piety, of the first part of this 
sacred hymn. You have seen that it suffers much 
and loses a great deal of its perspicuity, its elegance, 
and sublimity, from the inaccuracy of our version. 
There is however in our language a poctick version 
which does greater justice to the original ; I will 
not say that the worthy author has retained all the 
thoughts and all the sublimity, together with all the 
simplicity of the royal poet, but this I may say, that 
it is composed in the same elevated spirit of devo- 
tion, and that whoever has sufficient sensibility of 
heart to relish and admire the one, cannot be dis- 
gusted or unaffected by the other. 

1. The spacious firmament on high, 
With all the bine ethereal sky, 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great original proclaim. 

2. The unweary'd sun, from day to day, 
Doth its Creator's power display ; 
And publishes to ev'ry laud, 

The work of an almighty hand. 

3. Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale ; 



David's Morning Hymn of Praise. 311 

And nightly to the listening earth 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 

4. Whilst all the stars which round her burn, 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

5. What, tho' in solemn silence all 
Move round this dark terrestrial ball ; 
What, tho' no real voice nor sound 
Amid these radiant orbs be found ; 

6. In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice ; 
For ever singing, as they shine, 

" The hand that made us is divine." 



PRAYER. 

Who in the heavens can be compared unto the 
Lord ? or who among the sons of the mighty can 
be likened unto our God ? Thou, O Lord, art the 
eternal fountain of light, and life, and happiness ; 
the creator of all things visible and invisible; the 
constant supporter, the gracious governour, the 
daily preserver of universal nature ; the tender 
father and the righteous judge, of angels and of 
men ! 

Thou art great, O Lord, beyond our most en- 
larged conceptions, may thy grandeur make deep 
impressions on our souls ; may we never presume 
to take thy holy name upon our lips, unaccompani- 
ed by the deepest sentiments of reverence and awe ; 
for who shall not fear before thee, and glorify thy 
name ? — Thou art good also beyond ail our grati- 
tude, and thy mercies unto us, surpass all number ! 



312 David 9 s Morning Hymn of Praise. 

What shall we render unto thee for all thy bene- 
fits ? We would love thee with all our heart, and 
soul, and mind, and strength ! 

Most devoutly do we bless thee, O most mer- 
ciful Father, that thou hast made us capable of 
knowing whence all our comforts flow; of render- 
ing thee a reasonable voluntary service ; of hold- 
ing some communion with thee upon earth, in the 
sacred duties of religious meditation, prayer, and 
praise ; and of rendering ourselves more fit for the 
exalted services of thine heavenly kingdom, when 
time and days shall be no more ! 



DISCOURSE XX 



ON THE GLORY OF GOD, AS DISPLAYED BY 
THE HEAVENLY LUMINARIES. 



PART II. 



Psalm xix. 1. 

The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth 
his handy work. 

There is scarcely an instance of neglect or insen- 
sibility more unworthy of our character, than to 
live surrounded on all sides by ten thousand ob- 
jects that proclaim the glory of God, and yet to 
live carelessly and stupidly inattentive to their voice ; 
indevoutly unobservant of that secret agency by 
which they are sustained and governed ; veiled, in- 
deed, it must be confessed, by the intervention of 
second causes, but the glory of which, notwith- 
standing, shines through the veil with such bright- 
ness, that every attentive eye may see, and every 
human heart is bound to acknowledge, to admire, 
and to adore it. 

Rejecting every thing abstruse or remote from 
common apprehension, I shall avail myself of the 
text as a guide; for we shall stand in need of some 
pilot or landmark, that we may not lose ourselves 
in so immense an ocean. Even those instances of 



314 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

divine perfection, which are manifested in the hea- 
vens, and lie open and level unto common appre- 
hension, are so very numerous, that not one, nor 
many Discourses would be sufficient to collect them. 
I must content myself, therefore, with the mention 
of a very few ; which may serve as a kind of spe- 
cimen of the rest, and as an illustration of the man- 
ner in which we ought to meditate on the works of 
God. 

It is most natural, in the first place, to take no- 
tice of the external aspect of the heavens, for even 
thence we may learn something of the glory of their 
Maker, and derive some considerations to increase 
our reverence of him. In the productions of hu- 
man power and skill, there is ordinarily something 
even in the first appearance, previous to any diligent 
examination, without any accurate survey, which 
bespeaks the excellency (if the works be indeed 
excellent) of the hand that made them, and which 
demonstrates that they are the performance of a 
master : in the works of God, therefore, we may 
reasonably expect, that on the most transient sur- 
vey, there should appear something infinitely mag- 
nificent and great, something that should mark them 
as divine. — The expectation is just, and, in no in- 
stance, will it ever be disappointed, but in no in- 
stance will it be more completely satisfied than in 
the contemplation of the heavens. 

In that azure vault, though we regard not the 
luminaries that revolve there, the most perfect sim- 
plicity is united with the most majestick grandeur. 
Who could stretch out the heavens but an Al- 
mighty arm ? or who could paint them in their 
various attractive and ever-changing beauties, but 
an all-skilful Artist ? In the noon of day, what 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 315 

surpassing glory ; in the noon of night, what solemn 
shades ! If we look to the rising sun, how majes- 
tick is his motion ! how bright his radiance ! the 
whole scene of his appearance, how magnificent 
and sublime ! If we gaze on the setting sun, what 
eye is not struck by the innumerable dyes with 
which he tinges the western Heavens ? What art 
can rival the painting of his declining beams, or 
what heart does not feel itself composed and sof- 
tened, by a spectacle, so tranquil, and serene ? 
The mid-day blaze is at once an image and a proof 
of his unutterable glory who dwells in light to 
which no man can approach — the ten thousand 
lamps that adorn the nightly firmament, that even 
cheer its horrours while they make its gloom more 
sensible and awful, could be suspended by no other, 
than an Almighty Architect. That solemn scene 
declares his power to involve us in the most tre- 
mendous ruin ; it speaks also of his readiness to 
set before us all the profusion of his glory, arid his 
love ! The source of day speaks aloud the praise 
of that uncreated light in which there is no dark- 
ness at all : and when the moon issues forth to sup- 
ply his absence, most powerfully does she remind 
us of the tender mercy of God; who gives to man 
every blessing in its season, and who would not 
leave us to despondence or to want. Whilst her 
incessant changes exhibit to us an emblem of the 
inconstancy of earthly things, and of human cha- 
racters, she exhibits a proof also, of an unchang- 
ing hand, that guides and rules her motions; even 
the " father of lights, with whom there is no varia- 
bleness nor shadow of changing." 

Secondly, The heavens still further reveal the 
glory of God, if we attend to the magnitude of the 
celestial bodies, the vast extent of the space in which 



316 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

they move, and the rapidity with which their mo- 
tions are performed. 

With a very few exceptions, every star that we 
behold is another sun unto another system ; placed 
in the centre of many worlds, and affording unto 
each as they revolve around it, their proper measure 
both of light and heat, in their appointed seasons. 
If so many suns, how r many worlds ? If so many 
worlds, what numbers can express the inconceivable 
multitude of their inhabitants ? all of them the crea- 
tures of divine power, the monuments of divine wis- 
dom, the objects of divine love ! — Think then, while 
you are gazing on the starry firmament, how many 
myriads of unnumbered worlds are at that mo- 
ment rejoicing in the goodness of their Maker, and 
are even then praising Him whose praise the star- 
ry firmament invites us also to celebrate. Of all 
these innumerable worlds, that one on which we 
live, vast as we conceive it, is among the least 
that we behold. There are those even in our own 
system, to whose ocean our ocean is a pool, and to 
whose mountains our mountains are as the smallest 
hillock ! 

These observations may a little assist you in con- 
ceiving something of the vast magnitude of the 
works of God ; but would you be informed how 
wide is the extent of his creation, I can do little more 
than tell you, that as his works for number are innu- 
merable, so the space they occupy for extent is im- 
measurable. It may aid your thoughts to be told, 
that if you travelled round this globe for more than 
3000 times, you would not have travelled by much 
so far as the earth is distant from the sun ; and that 
taking even the velocity of a cannon-ball, you could 
not complete your journey thither in twenty-two 



by Ike Heavenly Luminaries. 31 7 

years. Yet, astonishing as is the space that is 
stretched out between our world, and the sun which 
enlightens it daily by his beams, if compared with 
the space that is comprehended within ail the worlds 
that revolve around him, it is not so much as the 
area of this house of prayer, to the city wherein it 
stands, and, in comparison of the universe, even that 
space is not as a hand's breadth to this globe ! What 
an idea does this give us of the extent of the Divine 
Presence! God is, wherever there are any of his 
creatures ; out of his sight, or reach, or power, or 
knowledge, you cannot go. Though you flew with 
the rapidity of a ray of light, and prolonged your 
flight unto eternity, still as you left new worlds be- 
hind, new worlds would be continually passed by, 
and new worlds continually coming into view ! 

Sinner, when the day of retribution comes, whither 
canst thou betake thyself for refuge ? What art thou, 
that wrath should not come upon thee to the utter- 
most ? Sinner, stand in awe of God ; think how ter- 
rible a thing it is to fall into his hands, what art 
thou that in his wrath he should not crush thee ? 

Go where thou mayst, faithful Christian, whilst 
thou art in this world, or when thou leavest it; 
thou canst not go " where universal love shines not 
around," thou canst not go away from God ; thou 
canst not go where he will not be with thee, and 
delight in thee, and pour out the riches of his libe- 
rality upon thee ! 

But to return from these reflections on the vast 
extent of the universe, it remains to be observed 
under this head, that the glory of God appears not 
only in the immense extent of the heavens, and in 
the magnitude of the celestial orbs, but also in the 

30 



313 On the Glory of God, as displayed, 

inconceivable rapidity of their motions. There is, 
even in our own system, a planetary world, which 
proceeds in its course with a speed so vast and as- 
tonishing, that even thought is unable to keep pace 
with it. Since the commencement of the present 
hour, now near its close, it has passed through no 
less a space than upwards of 40,000 miles. Such 
is the rapidity of this earth, on which we live, in its 
annual circuit round the sun, and equal to this, or 
even greater, is the velocity of some others of the 
planetary worlds — Measure, if thou canst, my soul, 
or own that no finite creature can measure, the amaz- 
ing power that fashioned these mighty orbs, or the 
force that impels them in their courses ! 

Thirdly, The heavens will reveal to us still more 
of the glory of God, if we attend to the constancy 
and harmony of their motions. 

It was originally a promise of the Creator, and it 
has been graciously fulfilled from the beginning, that 
seed time and harvest, summer, and winter, heat 
and cold, day and night, should not fail. As was 
the first day that shone upon the world, so has this 
day been. As was the first night that overshadowed 
it, so will the night that is approaching, be. One 
year, like every other year, is made up of seasons, 
regularly and uniformly interchanging. The aspect 
of the heavens, and the appearance of the earth, at 
any given period, has exactly answered to their as- 
pect and appearance in any other corresponding 
period, from this day backwards, through six thou- 
sand years, to the birthday of our world ! And, what 
is true of this world for that period, is doubtless 
true often thousand other worlds; for a period per- 
haps ten thousand times as long. 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 319 

What an argument is here of an all wise, almigh- 
ty, and all gracious Providence ; continually presid- 
ing over the worlds that he has made ; actuating, 
directing, controlling, and governing all their revo- 
lutions ! If at any one moment, their heauty, their 
order, and their magnificence, be a demonstration 
that they are the creatures of unerring wisdom ; the 
perpetuity of that magnificence, of that order, and of 
that beauty, is a demonstration equally clear, of the 
constant agency, and providence of God. 

Whence is it that the sun never has mistaken its 
rising, nor the moon her going down ? Whence is it 
that the seasons have never been inverted nor con- 
fused ? Whence is it that night has always come at 
its expected period to the repose of the weary la- 
bourer ? Whence is it that the harvest never has 
forgotten to ripen that seed, which the spring invited 
the industrious husbandman to sow ? In the heaven- 
ly orbs, whence do the vicissitudes of day and night, 
and of the seasons, flow ? there is in them no memo- 
ry, no reason, no intelligence; they move as they 
are impelled, and have no other powers or influen- 
ces than those that are imparted to them, or impress- 
ed upon them, by a foreign hand ; by the energy 
of an omnipresent spirit: it is to the glory, there- 
fore, of that omnipresent spirit, that they shine : 
In all their changes they obey his will, and in all 
their revolutions they manifest his wisdom and his 
goodness. It is because he changes not, that the 
order which was first established, is not inverted 
or invaded ; " all things continue unto this day 
according to his ordinances, because all are his 
servants." 

But again. It is not only the constancy and regu- 
larity of the heavenly revolutions that declare the 



320 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

glory of God ; his glory is still farther illustrated by 
their perfect harmony and agreement. The host 
of heaven is innumerable ; millions of worlds are 
continually moving with infinite rapidity through 
the immeasurable space that lies around us ; whence 
is it that they prove so faithful to their courses, 
that they never wander from their own proper 
path, that they never interfere with each others 
circuit, that no concussions or convulsions happen, 
and that the benefits which they are intended mu- 
tually to impart, are never intercepted or defeated? 
In many instances their paths cross each other, 
whence is it that no mischiefs come to pass ? Let 
one world only arrive a little sooner or a little 
later at a certain point, and how tremendous would 
be the ruin that would ensue ! 

Fourthly, The Heavens will reveal to us still 
more of their Creator's gbry, if we attend to the 
utility of the heavenly bodies, and of their motions. 

No one can be insensible of the innumerable 
blessings we derive from the agency of that glo- 
rious luminary, of which the Psalmist so beauti- 
fully says, that u God hath set a tabernacle for him 
in the heavens." It is evident to all, that the sun 
is the great source of our light and heat. Without 
light, the face of nature would be one universal 
blank— all would be gloom, discomfort, suspicion, 
and dismay. The various beauties with which the 
face of nature is adorned, of such efficacy to delight 
the heart of man, and to delineate his Creator's ex- 
cellence, would then have been bestowed in vain : 
they could not have administered either to the plea- 
sure or instruction of the children* of men, or have 
discovered any thing of their Creator's excellence. 
Confined, as must then have been their knowledge 



by the Heavenly Luminaries* 321 

and improvement, if indeed their very existence in 
such circumstances could have been preserved, 
what would have been the intricacy and confusion 
of their affairs? what utter strangers must they have 
been to those things most intimately connected with 
them, and which are, at the same time, most de- 
lightful, and most important to their welfare ? So 
unfavourable, indeed, would have been a situation 
like this, to the moral character and moral con- 
duct of men, that without the hope of an approach- 
ing dawn, without the expectation of better things 
to come, life, in this condition, could hardly have 
been esteemed a blessing. — So miserable and so 
fatal would have been the consequences, if we had 
been deprived of those cheering rays, which mani- 
fest at once the beauties and the wonders with 
which we are surrounded ! 

If again that glorious luminary should withhold 
his heat, if the genial warmth that he imparts to 
all things here below, were intercepted, or, if our 
Almighty Maker had not provided for us so con- 
stant and convenient a source of vital warmth and 
comfort, the earth had been congealed into one 
solid and inseparable mass; no fluids would have 
circulated through the globe, or through the ani- 
mal, or vegetable system ; and those motions and 
revolutions on which every kind of life depends, 
would have stood still. Day and night would then 
have had no distinction, but that of light, and the 
want of light; and the seasons would have brought 
no changes, but what consisted in their different 
proportions to each other of day and night; so 
useful and so necessary are the solar beams to en- 
lighten and to animate this world of ours; so ne- 
cessary to the comfort, as well as to the preservation 
of its various inhabitants. 



822 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

Yet various and unspeakably great as are the 
blessings we derive from the light and heat of the 
sun ; perpetual day would not be a blessing. The 
interchanges of day and night, are not only agree- 
able in themselves for their variety, useful for the 
different displays they exhibit of the Creator's wis- 
dom and power, the one necessary to action, the 
other friendly to repose ; but to these also, to the 
regular return of evening cold, as well as of daily 
warmth, we are indebted for those dews and rains 
that are the refreshment and the nourishment of the 
vegetable kingdom, without which, the earth would 
be parched into dust and ashes. 

These are a mere specimen, two or three select 
instances out of a thousand that might be collected, 
of the benefit we derive from the presence, and the 
absence of the sun. 

If again we turn our thoughts to the vicissitudes 
of the seasons, another benefit which we derive from 
the great lamp of day; we shall have a new in- 
stance of the Creator's goodness in the utility of 
this constitution. Admitting that in itself some 
one of the seasons may appear more desirable than 
another, yet each has its peculiar benefits and 
beauties ; and a regular alternation by producing a 
combination of all their blessings, is more desirable 
than the unvaried continuance of any one season. 

If we had continually been indulged with the plea- 
sures and the benefits of summer, the other side of 
the globe must have been frozen in eternal winter. 
Nor should we have had any cause to rejoice in the 
indulgence long; for, as all the seasons are accom- 
modated to the service and the constitution of man- 
kind, so likewise are they adapted one unto an- 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 323 

other. If continual winter were to prevail, the 
productions of the earth would not suffice for the 
subsistence of a very small part of those that now 
live comfortably upon it; and if, on the contrary, it 
were continually teeming with the profusion of 
summers' fruits and herbage, all care and fore- 
thought, and probably in great measure, all indus- 
try and activity, on the part of man, would be pre- 
cluded, to the great detriment both of his body and 
mind. The gifts of the Almighty would be vainly 
lavished in a measure far exceeding the wants of 
his creatures, and in a manner much unbecoming 
the wisdom of the bestower. The winter not only 
seasonably causes the earth to cease from her la- 
bours, when she has sufficiently supplied the ne- 
cessities of her inhabitants, but at the same time 
brings along with it those circumstances, which re- 
new her strength, which fertilize her fields for future 
harvests, and enable her from time to time to ad- 
minister again to their returning wants. In con- 
tinual winter, therefore, there would be a perpetual 
provision for supplies of fruitfulness, without any 
means of exerting this power, and without any use 
or application of this provision, and of these sup- 
plies; and in continual summer, a perpetual exer- 
tion, without any renovation of them, a constant 
waste, without any sources of repair. The alter- 
nation, therefore, of these seasons, bespeaks the 
goodness, as well as wisdom of the Creator. 

This goodness and wisdom is still farther illus- 
trated, in the gradual return of summer and win- 
ter, through the intervening seasons of the autumn, 
and the spring ; for, passing slowly from one ex- 
treme to the other, the influence of each is more 
kindly felt by the fruits 'and productions of the 



324 On the Glory of God, as displayed 

earth, and the two extremes take place without 
prejudice ; naj, in fact, with much advantage, to 
the health and comfort of mankind. 

Here again we have another instance of another 
class of blessings derived unto mankind from the va- 
rious changes, and the different situations of that 
amazing orb, which God hath lighted up in the hea- 
vens, " for signs and for seasons, for days and for 



years." 



PRAYER. 

Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord 
God Almighty, in wisdom hast thou made them all! 
Whither shall we go from thy spirit, or whither 
shall we flee from thy presence ? If we ascend up 
into heaven thou art there— if we take the wings of 
the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of 
the sea, even there shall thy hand lead us, and thy 
right hand shall hold us ! 

O Lord, what is man, that thou art mindful of 
him, or the son of man, that thou visitest him — what 
have we wherewith to come before this high God, 
or what are we, that we should take upon us to ad- 
dress so great and glorious a Being! 

We owe it to thy guardian care, that day and 
night, seed time, and harvest, fail not.— These 
blessings of thy providence thou scatterest with a 
liberal hand upon all thy creatures — wherever we 
turn our eyes, we behold the most wonderful dis- 
plays of Almighty power, unerring wisdom, and 
never failing goodness ; and every moment that we 
contemplate thy gracious appointments, we have 



by the Heavenly Luminaries. 325 

new and convincing evidence, that the God we serve 
is love. 

O God, our unthankfulness in the midst of so many 
mercies ; our unfruitfulness in the midst of so 
many privileges ; our transgressions which we have 
multiplied against so many awful obligations, and 
against so much endearing tenderness, fill our 
hearts with the most painful reflections and the 
most distressing apprehensions, and might totally 
have discouraged our hope in thee, were it not for 
the gracious assurance in the gospel of Christ, that 
with thee there is mercy, and that with our God 
there is plenteous redemption. 



:3i 



DISCOUKSE XXI 



ON THE GLORY OF GOD, AS MANIFESTED IN 
THE HEAVENLY LUMINARIES. 



PART III. 



Psalm xix. I. 



The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showcth 
his handy work. 

In the preceding Discourses on this subject, I have 
endeavoured to point out, first, how strikingly the 
glory of God is manifested in the external appear- 
ance of the heavens; secondly, in the magnitude of 
the heavenly bodies, and the rapidity with which 
they move ; thirdly, in the constancy and harmony 
of their motions ; and, fourthly, in their important 
influence on our welfare and our happiness. Here, 
our first attention having been naturally attracted by 
that glorious luminary, which is at once the source 
of our light and heat, I would now suggest a few 
thoughts on the benefits derived from the lunar light. 
Passing over those which are most obvious, and 
which we experience when obliged to prolong our 
labours beyond the decline of day, I would merely 
remark its extreme importance to those, whose 



On the Glory of God, &c. 327 

night continues not merely for a few hours, but who 
are deprived of the cheering influence of the sun, 
for weeks and for months. In these dreary regions 
of our globe, not indeed very populous, yet not al- 
together destitute of inhabitants, if some kind pro- 
vision were not made to enlighten them, during so 
long an interval, it is easy to imagine in how un- 
comfortable a manner both themselves and their 
affairs would be affected. But God is the common 
father of mankind, and his tender mercies are over 
all his works. The motions of the moon therefore 
are wonderfully and graciously extended beyond 
the limits of the sun's course, that during so long 
an absence of that luminary, she may administer 
some light and comfort to these dark corners of the 
earth. 

In illustration of the same benignity and care of 
God, it may also be observed here, that many other 
natural circumstances concur to render this situation 
more tolerable than we imagine it ; so that although 
the inhabitants be involved in a much longer night, 
they know very little of that total darkness which so 
frequently characterizes ours. 

It is to the moon principally that we are indebt- 
ed for those constant and regular agitations of the 
waters, the air, and of every other fluid, whether 
upon the surface of the earth or above it, which 
preserves them from stagnating, and prevents pu- 
trefaction ; the inevitable consequence of which 
would be, general pestilence, and universal desola- 
tion. There are tides also and from the same cause 
in the human body, as well as in the terraqueous 
globe, which have secret, but in general very bene- 
ficial influences upon the health, the comfort, and 
even upon the rational faculties of man. 



328 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

Under this article, I will merely superadd one 
observation more ; namely, that the division of our 
time marked out to us by the moon, is attended with 
much convenience to the affairs of men. In many 
instances, the period of a year, marked out by the 
sun, would be too long, especially considering the 
brevity of human life ; whilst on the contrary, the 
period of a night, or a day, or of both united, would 
in many other instances be too short. 

Of all the other worlds and fires that adorn the 
firmament of heaven, I would only make this general 
remark, that although they are at too great a dis- 
tance to afford much light or warmth, or to have 
anv direct influences on the earth and its inhabitants, 
like the influences of the sun and moon, yet, in re- 
spect even of us, ihey are not merely ornaments to 
the beautiful canopy which the hand of God hath 
stretched out over our heads. There are, in some 
parts of our globe, immense plains, without road or 
path, or any marks or means of distinction ; some, 
uniformly dreary, and some, immeasurably wide ; 
plains, where thousands of our fellow creatures have 
no other guide to direct them in their migrations, or 
in their visits from one part of the interminable pros- 
pect to another, but the stars of heaven. These 
celestial luminaries also, are a faithful guide to the 
industrious mariner, through the trackless deserts 
of the ocean ; by them he is enabled to make the 
haven where he would be, and to return in safety to 
his far distant home, instead of being tost without 
knowledge, or without hope, upon the mighty wa- 
ters: and it is by means of this intercourse, that the 
commerce and communion of mankind, which had 
otherwise been confined to contiguous countries, or 
along adjacent shores, is extended from, one end of 
the earth unto the other. By means of this inter- 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. 329 

course also it is, that great improvements are deriv- 
ed to the whole human race : that the hearts and 
minds of men are opened to freer thoughts, and more 
humane sentiments ; that their ideas of the great 
Creator are enlarged and ennobled ; that the policy 
of governments, may be, hereafter, in all instances, 
and has been already in many instances, made bet- 
ter ; that the manners of mankind have been refined 
and softened ; and if some few vices and follies have 
extended their infection, yet the balance, upon the 
whole, has been much in favour of human happiness. 
The influence of many virtues has been increased ; 
true religion, even the knowledge of God, and of 
the Son of God, has made an extensive progress ; 
and since the way is now opened, our expectations 
are enlivened and our hopes confirmed, that the 
glorious day of salvation may be hastened, when all 
the kingdoms of the earth shall become the king- 
doms of the Lord, and of his Christ ! 

Such then is the utility of the heavenly lumina- 
ries, and of their various revolutions, such their con- 
nexions with the affairs of men, and their beneficial 
influences upon them ; so loudly do they proclaim 
the glory of that hand by which they were formed, 
and by which also they are moved and supported 
with such inconceivable energy ! They are as useful 
as they are magnificent, and form together one 
general chorus employed continually in celebrating 
the high praises of our God ! 

Before I proceed to the next and last division of 
this discourse, allow me to enlarge these thoughts, 
and to extend the conclusion that may be drawn 
from them in demonstration of the divine power and 
goodness, by the following remarks. 



330 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

In the first place, all that has been said concerning 
the benefits which we derive from the sun, the revo- 
lutions and the changes of his course, is equally true 
concerning many other worlds to which he gives 
both light and heat, and which, like ours, are con- 
tinually moving round him. 

Secondly, All that has been said concerning the 
benefits we derive from the moon, is true concerning 
our earth, in respect of that luminary, which is to 
her, and her inhabitants, a moon, affording still 
greater light, and producing similar, but much more 
powerful influences. 

Thirdly, We know that several of these worlds, 
which have the same common source of light and 
heat with ourselves, are, like our world, attended 
by their respective moons, which of consequence 
administer unto them the same benefits which we 
receive from ours, and which derive from the planet 
they attend, the same advantages, which our moon 
derives from the world which we inhabit. 

In the fourth place, From every world throughout 
the universe, the heavens will make the same appear- 
ance to its inhabitants, that they make to us ; and 
consequently they may afford the same benefits to 
the inhabitants of every other world, that they do 
to the inhabitants of this. — Thus, O God, wherever 
we go, do thy works praise thee; in all worlds do 
we trace the footsteps of thy wisdom, thy power, and 
thy goodness ! 

Again, the skill with which the works of God are 
combined together; the harmonious connexion that 
is established, and has subsisted for ages, unbroken 
and undisturbed among all the various parts of this 



in the Heavenly Luminaries, 331 

immeasurable system ; the benefits that result from 
these connexions and dependencies, in innumerable 
instances so striking and so extensive, so wonderful, 
liberal, and gracious ; justify, nay demand this con- 
clusion, that nothing has been made in vain; that 
even, where we cannot see the utility and kind- 
ness of the works, or the dispensations of the Al- 
mighty, it is not because they are not useful, it 
is not because they are not kind, but because we 
want the discernment, the penetration, the compre- 
hension of mind, or some other necessary assistances 
to discover their real character. Could we see with 
the eye of truth ; in every object we behold, from 
the dust of the ground, to the heavens on which we 
gaze with wonder; from the lowest of his creatures, 
to those who know him best, and love him most, and 
bear the nearest likeness to him ; we should see it 
written in eternal characters, that God is power, 
and light, and love ! 

In the ear of reason, there are ten thousand salu- 
tations proceeding from ten thousand times ten 
thousand living creatures, congratulating the race 
of men that they live under the government of so 
great, so kind, and so good a master. — u Rejoice 
then in the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within 
me praise his holy name !" — Rejoice with trembling, 
O ye sons of men, and think what returns ye can 
render unto him for all his benefits ! 

In the last place, I would just add another obser- 
vation on this subject; the heavens reveal to us still 
more of the glory of God, if we consider how won- 
derfully and how kindly their influences and revo- 
lutions, are adapted to the frame, and to the wants 
of man. 



332 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

Here I would by no means be understood to in- 
sinuate that the heavens were made for this pur- 
pose only, that the sun was created for no other 
end than that we might be warmed and enlighten- 
ed by his beams, or that the moon was created for 
no other purpose, than to cheer the darkness of our 
night; or the stars, with no other view, than to 
entertain the eye of man and direct him in his 
course. — The whole race of mortals, all that have 
lived, and all that ever will live, are, in the uni- 
verse of God, as a few grains of sand to the sea 
shore ! — Let us not conceive that these glorious lu- 
minaries have not far wider connexions, and more 
extensive influences, and more important services. 
But, if amidst these, if amidst innumerable other 
purposes ; if amidst innumerable other services, im- 
measurable in their extent, and unspeakable in 
their importance, the race of mortals has n.ot been 
overlooked or forgotten by the great Lord of all ; 
if, whilst these luminaries are accommodating their 
situation and their revolutions to so many nobler 
ends, they are at the same time so accommodated 
to the powers and the wants of man, as if created 
for him alone; this surely is a striking argument 
of his glory, who, whilst he attends to the greatest 
objects, overlooks not the smallest ; who knows 
how to harmonize the interests of all, so that there 
shall be no discord or interference; and whose 
paternal care and tender mercies are extended 
even to the least and the most unworthy of his 
creatures ! 

Of this observation I shall produce but one short 
instance, which will be sufficient fully to justify the 
remark, and may lead our thoughts to many similar 
reflections. 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. 333 

It is obvious to observe, that great as is the 
distance between this earth, and the source of its 
light and heat, it is not too great for the faculties 
or the exigencies of its inhabitants. At a greater 
distance, as our globe is now constituted, we should 
have had but a little, comfortless, twilight day; the 
obscurity and coldness of which would have es- 
sentially interfered with the business, security, and 
health of man : we should have had but a faint, 
cheerless summer, too weak to infuse life and 
gladness either into the animal or vegetable crea- 
tion ; and if not wholly insufficient to raise the 
fruits of the earth into vegetation, at least not 
sufficient to prepare, and to mature them : and our 
nights and winter would have been exceedingly 
noxious and severe. On the other hand, had the 
distance been less, though the winter and the night 
might have been in some degree comfortable, yet 
the summer and the day would have burnt with 
insupportable heat, and have blazed with unsufFera- 
ble splendour. 

I would now close the whole, with the following 
short practical reflections. 

In the first place ; We may learn hence by what 
means to improve our knowledge of God and of 
his glory ; viz. by a pious contemplation of his crea- 
tion, and a serious attention to his providence. 
To Christians, the word of God is a sacred rule 
of duty; and his word commends us to his works, 
if we mean to grow in divine knowledge. The 
beautiful and sublime imagery of the ancient pro- 
phets, prove them to have been devout observers 
of the wonders of creation ; and indeed there can- 
not be a stronger argument of insensibility and 
indevotion, than to live without God, without a su- 

32 



334 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

prerae reverence of his glories ; without attention 
to his presence, when all tilings around, above, 
within, and beneath us, testify that an Almighty 
hand created, and an all-gracious arm perpetually 
supports them ! 

Continually in the temple of the Lord shall I 
be, and habitualiy unmindful of the divinity that 
resides there ? Shall the Psalmist celebrate the 
beauties and the pleasures of a little local temple 
built by human art, the fruit of man's device, and 
which long ago has perished as its founder perish- 
ed ; shall the Psalmist celebrate a little local earth- 
built temple, because it was consecrated unto God, 
and because his worship was performed there, and 
shall our souls pay no regard, lend no attention, to 
that infinite and eternal temple, whose builder, and 
whose maker is God ? Look up to the innumerable 
worlds that revolve around us — with what nobler 
ideas, and sublimer sentiments ought not we to 
adopt the language of the king of Israel, saying 
unto him whose transcendent glory they manifest, 
" O how amiable are thy tabernacles, Lord of 
Hosts, our King and our God !•" 

Nor is the pious contemplation of the works of 
God recommended only by the example of the 
Psalmist : Jesus, the author and finisher of cur 
faith, was a studious observer, as well as a zealous 
preacher of divine providence, and a devout con- 
templator of his Father's works. If a sparrow fall 
to the ground, it is not without his heavenly Father ; 
if the fowls of the air are feeding in his sight, they are 
feeding on his Father's bounty ; if the lilies of the 
field adorn the scene that is before him, it is the 
hand of God that clothed them, and perfumed them 
with an odour and a splendour which no efforts of 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. 335 

human art, which no sumptuousness of imperial 
magnificence, can equal. 

A more rational entertainment no man can devise; 
a more edifying employment no man can conceive, 
than the serious and religious study of the works 
and ways of God. It is an entertainment that may 
be enjoyed in some considerable degree by the low- 
est capacities, if there be but the ability to observe 
and to reflect. It is an employment that may be 
made consistent with every other occupation, at any 
hour, and in any scene. 

Again. To survey every living object we behold, 
as the creature of him who made ourselves, and the 
various events of life as proceeding from the decree 
of God ; to consider them in this light, will conse- 
crate the most trivial occurrences into a sacrifice of 
praise ; and raise those pleasures, which had other- 
wise been no more than mere animal sensations, 
or mere amusements of the imagination, into 
the noblest, the most edifying, the most satisfac- 
tory, and the most worthy, of which humanity is 
capable. 

The Psalmist spake nothing more than the lan- 
guage of nature and experience, when he said ; 
" that the works of the Lord are great to all those 
by whom they are sought out ; giving pleasure." — 
The devout contemplation of them exceedingly ex- 
pands and improves the mind ; corrects the desire 
for all baser pleasures; and while it renders us less 
vulnerable to the temptations of this present state, 
we are thereby fitted and prepared for the more 
noble employments, and spiritual attainments of that 
which is to come. — By means such as these, the in- 
terests of piety cannot fail to be promoted ; for 



336 On the Glory of God, as manifested 

what heart, accustomed attentively to contemplate 
the immensity of creation, can be so insensible, as not 
to stand in awe of him who is punctually obeyed by 
ten thousand times ten thousand worlds ; and to 
whom the universe, and every being in it, owes its 
existence, and who has every heart and every hand 
in his controul ? What soul is there so obdurate, as 
not to feel, with the most fervent emotions of grati- 
tude and love, that benevolence of God, that is as 
wide as infinitude itself, and as stable as his own 
eternity ? What soul is there so fearful and so dis- 
contented, as not to resign its apprehensions and 
solicitudes, and commit itself with cheerful confi- 
dence to that God, who, if his works and his provi- 
dence may be trusted, knows all the wants of all his 
subjects, and pities the distresses even of the mean- 
est creature he has formed ? 

What is there that can dilate our hearts into pu- 
rer, or more fervent sentiments of charity and love, 
than to range through the boundless ocean of our 
Creator's mercies? — What is there so favourable 
to the sentiments of genuine humility, as to send 
out our thoughts to the universe of God, in com- 
parison of which, the world we inhabit is but as 
a particle of dust, and ourselves as an atom of that 
dust. 

Lastly. From what has been said upon this 
subject we may form a probable conjecture, con- 
cerning a part, at least, of our employment, in a 
future state of perfect virtue and of perfect happi- 
ness. 

Here we see little of the works of God ; yet the 
little that we do see conveys to us the purest and 
most sublime pleasure. We perceive an immensi- 



in the Heavenly Luminaries. 337 

ty behind, undiscovered and unknown, except that 
such an immensity exists. — What more probable, 
than that it should form a part of our future recom- 
pense and happiness, in union with each other, to 
trace the Creator's footsteps, in this and other 
worlds, and to pursue the manifestations of his glo- 
ries, through immensity, and to eternity, without 
limit and without end ! 

A nobler, or more pleasurable employment, we 
can hardly desire or conceive — jet a nobler and 
more pleasurable employment we have reason to 
hope for, and expect ; — what means the transporting 
promise that we shall then see God ? not " through 
a glass darkly ;" not only by reflection in the mir- 
ror of his works, but immediately, and even face 
to face ! — Blessed state ! Extatick expectation ! 
Who would lose it ! Who, my friends, would not 
earnestly " press toward the mark, for the prize of 
the high calling of God, in Christ Jesus!" 



PRAYER. 

O Lord God Almighty, before the mountains 
were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the 
foundations of the world, from everlasting to ever- 
lasting thou art God, and thy dominion is from ge- 
neration to generation. Thou art the same, yester- 
day, to-day, and for ever ! 

O Lord, when we consider the heavens, the work 
of thy fingers; when we behold the spacious firma- 
ment which thou hast stretched out above us; when 
we see the sun which thou hast appointed to rule 
the day, shining in his strength; or the moon 
which thou hast directed to keep watch by night, 



338 On the Glory of God, &c. 

walking in her brightness ; when we attempt to 
count that starry host with which the heavens are 
adorned ; our hearts are overpowered with the most 
lively and awful conviction, that thou art great, and 
thy name great, and that the understanding of our 
God is infinite ! 

Raise us, we beseech thee, to that happy state 
of mind, and keep us for ever in it, in which it shall 
be our chief delight to do thy will. May we be con- 
tinually aspiring after new improvements in the 
Christian character ; may we never think that we 
are already perfect ; but forgetting the things that 
are behind, and reaching forward to those that are 
before, may we press forward towards the mark, for 
the prize of the high calling of God, in Christ Je- 
sus. — As we draw nearer unto heaven, may We be- 
come more heavenly minded, more like those pure 
and holy spirits who reside there, and more meet to 
be partakers with them, in their employments and 
their happiness. 

Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, 
God only wise, be glory and majesty, dominion and 
power, both now and ever. Amen ! 



DISCOURSE XXII. 

ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE 
RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 



John xi. 4. 
This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God.* 

It is the duty of every Christian Minister, for it is 
the duty of every man, to extract whatever good 
he can extract, from every thing that befalls either 
himself or others. All the dispensations of Divine 
Providence contain in them the wisest instructions, 
and may be made productive of the kindest influences, 
to promote our best interests, to enhance our present 
consolations, and to enrich our heavenly inheritance. 
We cannot neglect them, but to our injury ; who 
then u is a wise man among you," let him show 
forth his wisdom in strenuous exertion to derive 
from every afflictive event, the important counsel 
it is capable of suggesting, and to profit from the 
wholesome discipline which it may administer. 

You all know the occasion that first led my 
thoughts to the portion of Scripture I have read to 
you. — You also, " are in the body ;" perpetually 
exposed to sickness, pain, and death ; and it was 

* Composed and preached on recovery from a nervous fever, in the 
year 17U3, in which the Author had been confined to his bed several 
ireeks, and his life had been despaired of many days. 






340 On the Use and Improvement to 

my desire to assist you in the just improvement 
of such dangers and of such deliverances as I had 
myself experienced, to the melioration of your 
hearts, and therefore, to the honour of your Ma- 
ker. 

It may be, that you have had experience of such 
situations, and if so, it is an incumbent duty, tenderly 
to cherish the remembrance, both of the affliction, 
and of the salvation ; for they still remain with you 
in their results, as talents to be acknowledged, oc- 
cupied, and improved. — It is possible that you have 
not yet. experienced such situations ; but it is by no 
means improbable, that hereafter you may ; and in 
that case, beforehand to have reflected on the bene- 
fits to be derived from them, and the improvements 
to which they majft>e made subservient, will enable 
you to derive those benefits with greater certainty, 
and in more abundance, and to make that improve- 
ment with greater accuracy, and with more accep- 
tance and success, when the hour of trial shall come. 
—Such previous meditation, upon subjects so inter- 
esting, properly pursued, and repeated at well-chosen 
intervals, will render us more attentive to the actual 
impressions when they do arrive ; more able to ap- 
prehend and feel the general dictates and demands 
of such visitations, and more capable of distinguish- 
ing those influences produced by them, to which we 
ought to yield our hearts, from those, which it equally 
behoves us to resist. 

From these motives, and with these objects in 
view, my thoughts were led to the text before us; 
it is not my intention to consider it as connected 
with the history of Lazarus, but only to observe 
to you ; 



be derived from Severe Illness* 341 

First, How those sicknesses which are not unto 
death, are in themselves, and of necessity, to the 
glory of God, and 

Secondly, How the real Christian, whilst he re- 
joices in these necessary displays of divine glory, will 
exert his own voluntary endeavours also, that both 
his dangers, and his deliverances, may redound still 
further to the glory of God. 

In the first place ; Those sicknesses that ter- 
minate not in death, are of necessity to the glo- 
ry of God. 1 mean not to assert, that there is 
any thing peculiar in them to the exclusion of those 
sicknesses which do terminate in death : for every 
thing is to the glory of God ; sickuess as well 
as health; pain, as well as pleasure ; death, as well 
as life ; evil, as well as good ; all are to his glory. 
Throughout the whole universe of God, there is not 
a being that exists, nor an event that comes to pass, 
which is not to his glory : that is to say, there is not 
in the whole universe, a being, or an event, which, 
to a mind capable of comprehending the nature, the 
causes, and the purposes of its existence, together 
with the connexions, the influences, and the results; 
which does not strikingly exhibit the perfections of 
its Author, and dispose every such spectator, to all 
the blessed sentiments and genuine expressions, of 
veneration, love, and joy. 

Placing our subject in this light, we can hardly 
fail immediately to perceive some rays of the divine 
glory in those sicknesses that are not unto death, 
and it will not be difficult so to direct our medita- 
tions, as to open wider views of the divine excellen- 
cies and more abundant causes of devout affection 
in these visitations of God's providence. 

33 



342 On the Use and Improvement to 

Go into the sick man's chamber, you will find 
him, it may be, extended on his bed ; not in soft 
and gentle slumbers, the restorers of exhausted 
nature, but tossing to and fro, in painful and tumul- 
tuous vigils ; or bound down in unconquerable death- 
like somnolency. You may find there, perhaps, 
even in the noon of life, the manly vigour, which, 
not many days ago, was actively and ardently en- 
gaged in innocent, honourable, and useful occupa- 
tions, sunk into oppressive languor, or dissolved, 
even into infant weakness ; heaving the breath 
that is not to be reached ; ineffectually attempting 
even the easiest exertions — the springs of life, which 
lately flowed with such force and freedom, baffled 
in their course : with embarrassed, interrupted, la- 
borious, failing efforts, struggling to keep up the 
vital current, and intimating, that they cannot do it 
long ! You might find there, perhaps, the sensa- 
tions which lately were so acute and lively, slow 
and obscure, and nearly extinct. — The ideas that 
were lately so clear and vivid, broken, confused, 
and blotted out. The understanding, that lately 
was employed with just discernment in the pur- 
suit of truth, -or in the business of the world, con- 
founded, deranged, distracted; one while overpow- 
ered by vast, and dark, and awful imaginations ; 
another while, dissipated in the lightest, wildest, 
and most extravagant conceptions ; its owner know- 
ing nothing of the scene around him, unacquaint- 
ed with his best friends, and a stranger in his own 
house ! 

From such circumstances, the next step is 
usually into the grave : yet sights like these are 
sometimes seen in sicknesses that are not unto 
death. Who does not perceive in them the demon- 
strations of that awful Power that can stop the 



be derived from Severe Illness. 343 

wheels of life whenever seemeth to him good ; that 
can crush the firmest fabrick; that can blight the 
fairest prospects ; that can darken the brightest 
day ; that can keep us living, and, in any degree he 
pleases, sensible to the anguish of sucli life ; in the 
midst of dying circumstances that can pain us at 
every avenue of our bodies, and distress us in every 
faculty of our minds. How fearful is that Power! 
how necessary is its friendship ! how forcibly do 
such scenes inculcate it upon us, to consider our de- 
pendence, and to own it, and to stand in awe of 
God? 

But, though the language which such a situa- 
tion addresses to the ear of reason, is full of awful 
and terrifick images, yet it is not terrour only that 
it inspires. When we cast our eye into scenes of 
pain and sickness, if we see not there so much of 
the goodness, as of the power of God, yet we catch 
some glimpses of the divine benignity : for it can 
hardly fail to meet our thoughts, that these are not 
the ordinary circumstances of mankind. If some- 
times, when need be, we are for a season, now and 
then in heaviness, yet how much more numerous are 
our days of health, activity, and joy ? The remem- 
brance of these happy days may well silence 
discontent, and enkindle gratitude on the bed of 
pain and languishing ; and even there, the well form- 
ed mind can derive comfort to itself, and feel its joy 
in God, from the reflection, that at all times the sick 
are comparatively few ; the great body of mankind, 
easy, vigorous, and happy. To an imagination that 
is at all at liberty to contemplate them, scenes of 
sickness and mortality suggest their contraries, vi- 
vacity and health. While the cloud is hanging over 
you, it may intercept, from the spot you occupy, 
some rays of the divine benignity, and may cool 



344 On the Use and Improvement to 

your accustomed triumph in the government of God : 
yet even then, if you will extend your view beyond 
your chamber, or your house, you will see all around 
you, a wide and cheering prospect ; chequered it 
may be with here and there a cloud, like that which 
is passing over you, but for the most part, enlight- 
ened and enlivened with the brightest splendours of 
divine liberality and goodness. 

Such contemplations even sickness can suggest, 
to alleviate the weight with which it presses on us, 
and to glorify that God, to whose grace, our visitation, 
and pain, and languor, are to be ascribed; who ap- 
prehends no attainder of his character from any 
thing he commands or does ; whose own language 
of his own conduct is, " I form the light and create 
darkness ; I make peace and create evil; I the Lord 
do all these things." 

In this manner, and in many other respects which 
it were easy to enumerate, does sickness, whatever 
be its termination, whether death, or renewed life, 

florify God its author. And if affliction glorifies 
im, how much more, deliverance from affliction ? If 
sickness is the means or the occasion of exhibiting 
unto us the excellencies of his nature and his cha^ 
racter; to our feeble eyes and contracted views, 
how much more directly and more manifestly are 
they displayed, in the healing of our diseases, and 
the renovation of our frame. 

When, in the example of a friend, we contemplate 
the progress of disease, advancing from one degree of 
power to another, till at length, nature, no longer 
able to maintain the unequal conflict, sinks down 
oppressed and overwhelmed ; our heart-aches grow 
with the growing danger ; till, at last, perhaps, our 



be derived from Severe Illness* 345 

faith fails us : While we speak in vain to the ear 
that hears not, or the understanding that apprehends 
not; while we look with wishful anguish on the 
pallid countenance, and watch with anxious solici- 
tude the ebbing breath ; it seems, as if there were 
but a moment to the fatal termination. While in- 
deed, there is life, there is hope ; but in a state 
like this, we dare not indulge it. — By what unknown 
springs should that oppressive load be shook off? 
by what means can that retiring spirit be recalled ? 
— What a journey ! long, insupportable, impractica- 
ble ? through all the stages that led to this awful 
scene, what a journey ! How impossible to travel 
back again, to the height from which he is fallen ! — 
If, notwithstanding all this fear, and doubt, and un- 
belief, that height be again regained ; if the trans- 
formation actually takes place to which our hopes 
durst not, or, perhaps, could not extend ; if the dy- 
ing friend does not die ; if, returning from the grave, 
where he was going down, he be re-invested in his 
strength, his reason, and activity ; his connexions, 
about to be dissolved, kindly renewed, and those 
offices, by him to have been done no more, resum- 
ed ; in reflecting upon such events, how impossible 
is it for the thoughtful mind to overlook what they 
exhibit of his glory, who is the God of our lives, 
the length of our days, and the dispenser of all our 
circumstances ! 

What power ! to commission the ministers of death, 
to bring down their victim to the very edge of the 
grave, and in the moment when their triumph is 
about to be complete, to contioul their operations, 
and reverse them ! What skill ! to lay no less, and 
yet to lay no more upon a feeble mortal than what 
he is able to bear. What wisdom! so exactly to ac- 
commodate the nature, the force, the extent, the con- 



346 On the Use and Improvement to 

tinuance of disease, to the power of sustaining, resist- 
ing, and surmounting it, as that it shall stop short of 
nothing but the extinction of the one last spark of 
life, and shall do all but extinguish it ! 

What kindness ! to restore to endeared connex- 
ions, to enlivened hopes, to improved comforts, to 
accustomed services, to unfinished projects, to new 
opportunities and increased motives of cultivating 
the affections of the Christian character, of adding 
to the treasures we have laid up in heaven, and of 
abounding still more and more, in all good works ! 

To whom are resurrections such as these to be 
ascribed ? Whose power, whose wisdom, whose 
goodness, do they display ? Shall we impute them 
to that self-rectifying principle which shows itself 
so manifestly in every part of nature, and not least 
in the human frame ? But who gave to this exqui- 
site machine that self-rectifying power, and who is 
it wards off that fatal period, that insurmount- 
able disorder, which this principle cannot rectify or 
survive ? Shall they dien be imputed to the anxious 
and unwearied care of affectionate and faithful 
friends ? Whose gift are friends ? in whose hands 
are their breath ? By whom are their views direct- 
ed, and their powers supported? Who places them 
upon the scene in which we need their help, and at 
the time in which we need it? Shall these resur- 
rections be ascribed to the assiduity, fidelity, and 
skill of the physician ? To whom does he owe his 
faculties, and the preservation of them ? From 
whose storehouses is he furnished with the reme- 
dies that he applies ? By whose kind disposals is it 
that in the moment of critical necessity he is present 
to apply them, in number, weight, and measure ? 
God, my friends, God is all in all ; without him no- 



be derived from Severe Illness. 347 

thing is. ■ Who,' says the prophet, ' who is he, that 
sayeth and it cometh to pass, when the Lord com- 
mandeth it not?' All other agents are his instru- 
ments, of his making, and of his employing. 

The voluntary instruments of his mercy are un- 
doubtedly entitled to our gratitude, and our hearts 
are unable to withhold it. While from just and 
proper principles these agents accomplish the pur- 
poses of divine Providence, they manifest their own 
worth, at the same time that they contribute to the 
display of the divine excellencies. But surely, what- 
ever wisdom, power, or goodness, the works of 
nature or the events of life exhibit, they must be 
properly and peculiarly to his glory, of whom, and 
through whom, and to whom, are all things. In 
tracing the causes of events, how can our reason rest 
till it reach him who is the Father of our spirits, and 
the former of our bodies, and the conciliator of our 
friendships ; the light of every understanding, and 
the strength of every arm ? 

Let us see God, my friends, wherever he is ; i. e. 
in every atom of the universe, and in every event of 
life. How joyful is the thought, that in him we live, 
and move, and have our being ! What a comfort in 
the prospect of long continued life ; what a source 
of firmness and tranquillity in the view of impend- 
ing death ! 

Wherever he reveals his glory, whether in our own 
circumstances, or in those of others, thither let our 
eyes be turned ; let our contemplations dwell upon 
the scene, till we have imbibed all the instructions it 
unfolds, and conceived all the salutary sentiments it 
is capable of inspiring. 



348 On the Use and Improvement to 

If pain and sickness speak to us of the awful sove-* 
reignty, or suggest to us the general benignity of 
God ; if they enliven the conviction of our own im- 
potence and dependence, with that of his patience 
and his power; though they be our own pains and 
sicknesses, or theirs who are dear to us as ourselves; 
while they are present, let us not turn away from the 
contemplation of them ; and when they are over, let 
us not relax our exertions to retain a just and lively 
sense of the salutary impression. 

If redemption from the hand of the grave bespeaks 
the power, and skill, and mercy, of its author, in 
such events let us accustom ourselves to observe 
and to consider the striking exhibition of divine 
grace : let us compare the renewed, with the expir- 
ing man, and suffer not ourselves to neglect such 
monuments of the divine glory, even though it were 
in the instance of a stranger or an enemy. 

The sicknesses which do terminate in death, no 
less than those from which we recover, no doubt are 
also to the glory of God. When that event is past, 
when we view it in its true light, and from the pro- 
per point of view, we shall see, I trust, and triumph 
in the conviction, that our death was to the glory of 
God. 

In the mean time, if, through the disadvantages of 
our present circumstances, or the imperfection of 
our present faculties, we see, or seem to see, more 
of God in the light of life, than in the valley of the 
shadow of death ; in the restoration to interrupted 
duties and enjoyments, than in sable funerals and 
silent graves; hard must be the heart which has 
experienced such deliverances, and conceived from 
them no devout affection. 



be derived from Severe Illness. 349 

For the present, to conclude. Let us keep a 
serious eye upon the current of divine Providence, 
and upon e\evy event that we meet with or befalls 
us, let us inquire what it has to say of our duty, 
or of God's glory. Let fidelity, gratitude, and 
cheerful confidence in God, sanctify our charac- 
ter. Whether he wounds, or heals; whether he 
sends us to the grave, or calls us back from thence ; 
let us say, " even so Father, for so it seemeth 
good in thy sight." — When the hand of God lies 
heavy on you, still remember that it is God's hand ; 
and when he lifts you up again, let your songs 
ever be of him, and your prayer unto the God of 
vour lives !* 



PRAYER. 

O Thou, who killest and makest alive ; who 
woundest, and who healest, accept the devout 
thanksgivings of those whom thou hast recalled from 
the gates of death, and brought back this day into 
thine house to serve and magnify thee, their preser- 
ver and deliverer ! 

It was thine hand that humbled, and that laid 
them low ; and it was the same Almighty arm that 

* The above Sermon, and the two following, unlike the others con- 
tained in this volume, not being suited to general use, the Editor could 
not, in like manner, add a prayer for general use. She has however, 
as it happened to be inserted at the end of the Sermon, subjoined 
that, with which the Author closed this service, apprehending that 
there are minds, to whom it will be interesting ; and she has also, 
with like views, added the psalm selected by him on the same occa- 
sion. It was not usual with him to keep a diary, but the date is here 
subjoined, viz. February 23, 1783, to which is added the following 
Memorandum. " The first time of preaching, after a very long illness, 
from the midst of October, perhaps from an earlier date, but laid aside 
from all publick service from the middle of November last. Great 
comfort and much delight of heart, in the duties of this dav." 

34 



350 On the Use and Improvement, cCf. 

rescued them from the impending danger. It is 
having obtained help from God that they continue 
hitherto, and of his great mercy that they are so far 
restored to the full enjoyment of reason, of health, 
and of strength ! 

Go on, O Lord, if it be thy will, to perfect that 
which thou hast begun, and grant that while their 
days are prolonged, they may be prolonged in use- 
fulness and comfort. 

Thou, O God, hast all hearts in thine hands ; 
hear their earnest supplications, that no time may 
impair their sense, either of the deliverance or of 
the affliction. May both have their proper influ- 
ence upon their temper and demeanour ; may they 
live to him by whom they live, and may their song 
ever be of thee, and their prayer unto the God of 
their lives. 

THE PSALM. 

Ill life's first dawn, ray tender frame 

W r as thy continual care ; 
Long ere I could pronounce thy name, 

Or breathe an infant's pray< r. 

Tho' reason with my stature grew, 

How feeble was it* aid. 
How little of my God I kn< w. 

How oft from thee I strayM ! 

Around my path what dangers rose, 

What snares through all the road ! 
What could have sav'd me from my H6es t 

But an all-powerful God ? 

Life has hung trembling on a breath, 

And thine unfailing love 
Hath snatch'd me from the stroke of death, 

And bid my fears remove. 

How many blessings, to thy throne 

Have rais'd my thankful eye ! 
How many pas.s'd almost unkown, 

Or unregarded, by ! 



DISCOURSE XXIII. 

ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE- 
RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 



PART II. 



John xi. 4. 
This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God. 

You have already seen, in the first place, how those 
sicknesses of ours, which are not unto death, are 
in themselves, of necessity for the glory of God ; 
you have seen, how to every intelligent observer, 
they do necessarily, and of themselves reveal it. We 
come now, 

In the second place, to observe, how the good 
man, while he rejoices in these necessary displays of 
the divine glory, will exert his own voluntary en- 
deavours also, that his dangers as well as deliveran- 
ces, may redound still farther to the glory of God. 

The good man who has experienced such afflic- 
tions, and such deliverances, will not be satisfied 
with what the events themselves unavoidably exhibit 
of his makers glory, his spirit will not rest, until he 
has been the active and voluntary instrument of de- 
claring it ; his heart will prompt him upon this, as 



352 On the use and Improvement to 

upon every just occasion, to present unto God the 
sacrifice of praise. 

God is glorified by the cheerfulness of the obe- 
dience which his servants yield to him, and by the 
fidelity with which they improve his talents. The 
good man therefore, as in every scene he will be 
studious to maintain such a temper and demeanour 
as shall prove that he thinks well of the dispensa- 
tions of Providence; so, in his reflections upon them, 
he will be studious to extract, to lay up in his re- 
membrance and to inculcate on his heart, every con- 
sideration afforded by them, to engage, to encour- 
age and support him in the culture of all good af- 
fections, and the practice of all good works. 

The christian cannot rise from the bed on which 
he lately was expiring, but his heart will vent itself 
in unfeigned praises and thanksgivings unto God. 
If that last vital spark which was well nigh extin- 
guished, be lighted up again into clear and just 
conceptions ; can such a transformation pass upon 
him, and his heart conceive no gratitude, his tongue 
keep back all praise ? shocked at the idea of the 
indecorum and the baseness of such an omission, the 
well formed mind will rejoice in God, that it has 
not thus to abhor itself. It will feel, that thanks 
and praise are due for the deliverance, and due 
for the affliction too. He will not despise the chas- 
tening of the Lord : knowing its general intention 
to be kind, he will inquire into its especial meaning. 
Persuaded, that it is only, "if need be, that he is 
in heaviness;" that "God chasteneth not for his 
pleasure, but for our profit, that we may be made 
partakers of his holiness," the Christian will look 
back with satisfaction on the trials he has under- 
gone; and duly humbled under the mighty hand of 



be derived from Severe Illness* 353 

God, will be sincerely thankful that he has not been 
exempt from the salutary discipline of life. If " in 
the midst of judgment God hath remembered mer- 
cy, and if mercy hath rejoiced against judgment," 
his gratitude will be enkindled into intenser ardour; 
his joy in the providence of God will be more live- 
ly ; and those cords of divine love, which unite him 
to that infinitely wise and tender Parent, will be 
more straitly drawn, and more firmly bound upon 
his heart. 

It is good for a living man to know what dying 
is : he may have reason to rejoice in the visita- 
tion that set him within sight of death, within feel- 
ing of that awful situation, as long as he shall 
live, and longer. There is no mystery in this lan- 
guage; it needs no illustration; all here present, I 
trust, will readily understand, and assent to it; and 
will be at least equally ready to concede, that life 
is good ; that long life is an unspeakable blessing, 
and a blessing which it is the duty of every man 
to seek. It is more talents, and affords more im- 
provements; it is more seed time, and may yield 
a greater harvest ; it is more discipline, and may 
lead to superiour perfection. The good man, 
though he will cheerfully consent to death, when 
the will of God is so, may yet wisely wish, and 
prudently endeavour, to live as long as life can be 
improved by him. A protracted service, much use- 
fulness, many trials, a long continued education, if 
they demand much, do however, promise much, and 
may conduct to a more honourable and distinguish- 
ed recompense. Can the good man's heart be sen- 
sible of this, and feel no grateful exultations in re- 
turning life ; in extended prospects, and reviving 
hopes ? It cannot be ; in all things God will be 
glorified by him ; he will cling to him when he 



354 On the Use and Improvement to 

wounds, and triumph in him, when he heals. 
Again, 

In respect to any visitation of his providence, 
God is not duly glorified, to the extent of our abili- 
ty or of our duty, merely by our devout acknowl- 
edgments: nor will the good man's heart be sa- 
tisfied, until he has applied himself to the religious 
and moral uses, which the visitations he has ex- 
perienced may afford to the glory and the praise 
of God. 

It is to the honour of the King, eternal and im- 
mortal, that his servants should occupy his talents, 
and not neglect them ; that the subjects of his moral 
government should concur with, and not counteract 
him in the events and purposes of his dispensations. 
Whilst they thereby promote their own excellence, 
they " show forth his praise ;" and wherever there 
is a sincere desire " that God may be glorified in 
us;" there will be, in that mind, a just attention to 
his providences, and a serious solicitude that his 
purposes may not be defeated, but accomplished 
iully, and in their whole extent. The Christian 
therefore, will not forget the sicknesses that issue 
not in death : he will often recollect the scenes 
through which he passed to the borders of the 
grave, and in his return from it ; and will cherish 
in his remembrance the impressions that they 
made, the convictions they enforced, and the senti- 
ments they excited ; he will frequently renew the 
traces they have left upon his heart ; that whatever 
advantages he possessed not the power to extract 
from them, while they were present with him, he 
may be enabled, by repeated retrospects, to obtain, 
and to carry with him through the whole of his 
future life. 



be derived from Severe Illness. 355 

Let me be permitted to illustrate and exem- 
plify this conduct in a few plain and obvious in- 
stances. 

Christian, if thou hast ever been within sight 
of death, whence, in that hour of trial, didst thou 
derive thy firmness and composure ? What was it 
that enabled thee to yield thyself with tranquillity 
and complacency to the will of God ? It was thy 
conscience — thy conscience was thy stay. And 
hast thou never since reflected on the cordial com- 
fort, which in that hour of darkness it administered? 
Dost thou never ask thyself what could then have 
tempted thee to part with it ? Once more, at least, 
thou wilt have need of such a friend — dost thou 
never impress it on thy heart, not to part with 
thine integrity, though thou shouldst die ? Hast 
thou never charged thyself to take thy good con- 
science with thee, when thou shalt next go into the 
valley of affliction, and the shades of death? — If 
not, thou hast not acted according to thy cha- 
racter, thy profession, thy obligation, or thy in- 
terest. 

Dost thou remember, Christian, with what com- 
passion, in those scenes of death, thou reflectedst 
on their case, who were without God, and with- 
out hope there ? How would thy heart have ached 
and trembled, if thou hadst not trusted that God 
would walk with thee, through death's dark val- 
ley ? — In what light did the divine favour then 
appear ? of what unutterable moment ! — of what 
inestimable value ! — Dost thou remember, what a 
wretch thou hadst been without it ? — How much 
was it endeared to thee ! how much was thy 
sense of its infinite importance quickened and en- 
larged ? 



356 On the Use and Improvement to 

Christian, hast thou never seriously retraced these 
sentiments and convictions ? — never in imagination 
measured back thy steps into that awful, yet edi- 
fying situation, by which such salutary feelings 
were thus invigorated and magnified ? Dying, in 
thine own conception, were thy sentiments so just 
and lively ? — returned again to life, is thy heart 
grown cold and insensible ? Are things eternal 
thus depreciated and injured? In neglect of such 
cares and exercises of the mind, have its sentiments 
undergone so deplorable a revolution ? — Surely, if 
it be so, this is not grateful, it is not reasonable, it 
is not christian, it is not wise. God has a claim 
upon you for better honour ; your own souls have 
a title to more attention : The friends who love 
you will regret, that such advantages to enliven, 
and to keep for eyer lively, your sense of the divine 
favour, should be lost upon you : and if they are 
wise, as well as kind, while they lament your folly, 
they will tremble for your safety. Again, 

The near neighbourhood of death is a station in 
which the vanity of this world is most clearly seen 
and felt, and the Christian, whose sincere desire it 
is to honour God, by the just application and im- 
provement of all his dispensations to him, will avail 
himself of the soberer ideas of that hour, to cor- 
rect the more forcible impressions, the gayer sen- 
timents, and the inordinate elations which we are 
too ready to admit from the influences of this world, 
when it stands as it were, nearer to us, in the time 
of our health, prosperity, and hope. 

Christian, it is likely that you have sometimes 
had reason to regret the force with which things, 
seen and temporal, struck you, and to lament the 
faint and ineffectual impression of things invisible 



be derived from Severe Illness. 307 

and eternal. In an hour of serious reflection, you 
see danger to your good conscience and your good 
character, and perhaps have actually suffered de- 
triment from your inability, or your inattention, to 
keep the proper balance between sense and faith. 
In this scene of discipline, where the world, and the 
things of it are perpetually pressing on our senses, 
incessantly soliciting our attention, and unavoida- 
bly occupying our care, such dangers may return 
again. You would not be repeatedly betrayed by 
any pleasures, or honours, or interests of this world 
to disgrace your Christian character : That, you 
know, would neither glorify God, nor comfort 
you You would be provided, as well as may be, 
against all seduction and surprise. Send back your 
thoughts then to the hour in which you deemed 
yourselves in the near neighbourhood of death. 
Place yourselves in the same scene again, and take 
up again the ideas and affections that were then 
stirring in your hearts. At that time, were your 
affections to the world very warm and keen ? Did 
it then appear to you of such vast importance ? Did 
you then congratulate yourselves on the pleasures 
you had enjoyed, on the honours you had worn, on 
the acquisitions you had made ? What thought 
you then of the anxiety and eagerness with which 
the things of this world are pursued ? What thought 
you of the sacrifices that are so often made for the 
things of this world? What thought you of the 
differences of the circumstances of mankind ? Did 
it then seem to you of any mighty moment in what 
rank or in what condition the human traveller 
should perform a journey, so rapid, and so short ? 
Wealth and poverty, affliction and prosperity, had 
lost much of their distinction in your mind; and 
from the station which you then occupied, the emi- 
nences and the vales of life were reduced to a level 

35 



358 On the Use and Improvement to 

in your view. To you the important thing was, 
that " in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with 
fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, you had 
had your conversation in the world." 

And, when in the secret of your breast, your 
heart poured out its warmest wishes for those you 
love, the things of this world were too light to 
prompt your intercessions; and your prayers for 
them were, that their souls might be in health, and 
prosper. To undervalue this world, is ingratitude ; 
to overvalue it, is imprudence ; to think justly of it, 
is truth, and it is duty too. In this respect to 
honour God, to judge of this world as he judges 
of it, and to feel ourselves affected towards it as 
he would have us feel, it is needful that we some- 
times withdraw ourselves whither its alluring flat- 
teries will not follow us; where the illusion of a 
vain imagination will not impose upon us ; where 
the connexion of this world with the world to come, 
will forcibly break in upon us, and will cause itself 
to be attended to, and laid to heart. It is in that 
connexion that its value and importance lies; and 
whatever tends to give justice or vivacity to our 
conceptions of that connexion, though they be 
scenes of sickness and of death, are scenes in which 
our thoughts should be often conversant. To place 
ourselves in imagination there, may essentially 
serve us : to have occasion of observing what the 
dying think of this world, is an advantage for the 
adjustment of our affections with respect to it, 
greatly to be wished for; but to have had the su- 
periour advantage of feeling for ourselves the im- 
pressions of such a situation, — of knowing experi- 
mentally, how the world appears to those who 
have finished their career in it,— is, in this view, a 
favour of divine Providence which it becomes us 



be derived from, Severe Illness. 359 

devoutly to acknowledge, and which it behoves us 
faithfully to improve. 

Of that man on whom the Providence of God 
has let in such striking views of the vanity of this 
world and its pursuits, it is most reasonably expect- 
ed, that he should possess and cultivate the spiri- 
tual mind : surely his affections towards the world 
should be calm and temperate; no passion which 
at all respects it, keen or ardent, except his zeal 
to improve to the uttermost, the period of disci- 
pline and education. — Thus he will do honour to 
the conviction that he has felt of the vanity of 
present things; and when he stands again upon the 
border of eternity, he will look behind him, with 
modest satisfaction, and before him, with humbie 
hope. Again, 

The visitations of which we speak, that have 
brought near to death, and have not terminated in 
it, will be applied by the wise and good man, in 
his reflections on the feelings of such times, to re- 
duce the over-weenings of self-esteem, and there- 
fore to quicken him in the culture of the Christian 
character, and to animate his diligence in all the 
business of life. 

There is no scene so humbling as the bed of 
death. In that solemn light, which the near ap- 
proach of judgment and eternity sheds around us, 
infirmities are apt to look like iniquities; in that 
awful hour that enlivens the desire, and takes from 
him for ever the power, to repair them, there is 
danger that the good man's errours and failings 
should rise up in his imagination to the magnitude 
of faults and crimes. When the end of life is just 
upon us, it is natural, it is scarcely avoidable, to 



360 On the Use and Improvement to 

compare its attainments with its length. Short must 
be the life, or great the attainments, which upon 
such a comparison, at such an hour, shall not hold 
forth to the comparer, much cause of humiliation and 
regret ; opportunities unobserved, neglected, or de- 
clined.- — Talents, though not misapplied, nor hid, nor 
unimproved ; yet improved but feebly, coldly, and 
remissly, are not desirable attendants on a dying bed ; 
no self-esteem is to be derived from them ; in their 
aspect there is nothing pleasing; there is nothing 
soothing, nothing elevating in the language which 
they hold. Dejection, it may be expected, will ac- 
company them, and it is well, if they do not cast 
some transient and uncomfortable clouds, on " good 
hope through grace," 

Christian, thy heart is no stranger to such senti- 
ments; in the hour of devout reflection, how often 
have they intruded on thy repose ! Humility is of 
the xery essence of thy character, and when, draw- 
ing nigh unto thy Maker in acts of religious contem- 
plation, or of pious homage, it is natural that self- 
abasement should spring up within thy heart — it 
may even be, that his " dread falleth on thee," and 
that " his excellency, maketh thee afraid !" — Yet, I 
may appeal to you, that your humiliations were ne- 
ver more sincere, your self-esteem never lowlier, the 
sense of your imperfections never more awakening, 
and your sense of the divine excellencies more over- 
powering, if you have ever been there, than on the 
bed of death.— With what affection was it that you 
then looked through impending death, to instant 
judgment, and an opening eternity ? It was not ter- 
rour ;— terrour was forbidden by divine mercy; it 
was not confidence, for confidence was repressed by 
the awful presence in which you were about to ap- 
pear ;— «- conscious of your own littleness and unwor- 



be derived from Severe Illness* 361 

thiness, did you cast yourself wholly on the goodness 
and mercy of God ? Sentiments like these become a 
creature such as man towards infinite perfection and 
unspotted holiness, and are highly favourable to 
Christian diligence and zeal ; yet who that has ever 
felt the tender anguish intermixed with them, would 
prepare more of it against another hour of serious 
self-communion, or of approaching death ? — Who, 
that on the bed of death, has compared himself with 
his great Exemplar; his own conduct with the law 
of God; his temper, with God's discipline, and his 
attainments, with his privileges ; who, that from such 
a situation has ever dwelt upon the painful retrospect 
of his own miscarriages and imperfections, can ever 
more think highly of himself; or ever more want 
motives in the future, to repair the past? 

Christians, cherish the remembrance of every scene 
and of every event which may have reminded you 
how far you have fallen short of the standard, to 
which your duty, your honour, your interest, and 
your comfort required you to aspire. 

While they are present with you, yield your hearts 
lo the penitential sentiments which they awaken, for 
this is one act of honour unto God; but forget not, 
that in respect of such visitations, you have not ren- 
dered to him all the glory due unto his name, till you 
have pursued the dictates and demands of such peni- 
tential sentiments, into the faithful correction, and 
the diligent improvement of your hearts and lives. 



DISCOURSE XXIV. 

ON THE USE AND IMPROVEMENT TO BE DE- 
RIVED FROM SEVERE ILLNESS. 



PART III. 



John xi. 4. 
> This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God. 

You have already seen in what respect and in what 
manner the sicknesses whicli are not unto death, are 
subservient to the glory of God. 

If we can trust either the judgment of our own 
reason, or the proofs of it exhibited in the gospel, be- 
nignity and kindness are the highest honours of the 
divine character ; and therefore, to study the resem- 
blance of God in these amiable excellencies, is to 
glorify the Lord our Maker ; and it is manifest to 
observe, that scenes of oppressive sickness and of 
impending death, are capable of yielding much as- 
sistance to the mind disposed to avail itself of the 
advantage, to enliven and invigorate the kind affec- 
tions of the human heart. 

Friendless and forlorn beyond the common lot 
of men, must be his, to whom, when such visita- 
tions have deprived him of all self-assistance and 



On the Use and Improvement, &c. 363 

support, they afford not great occasion for much 
gratitude to others. Ungenerous and contracted, 
not jet emancipated from the debasing influence of 
selfish and envious passions, must that heart be, 
which, amidst its own dangers and afflictions, can 
find no congratulations to present to those who are 
secure and happy : and still harder and more uri- 
impressible the spirit, which, whilst it feels its 
own absolute need of pity and assistance, has no 
compassion to bestow upon its brethren in afflic- 
tion. 

It is the natural tendency of such situations to 
invite reflection, to lead our thoughts to those who 
are in like circumstances, and to draw out our 
hearts towards them. To feel the anguish of afflic- 
tion, from whatever cause it may arise, naturally en- 
livens and magnifies our ideas of the contrary situa- 
tion ; and, as in the selfish mind it may give an in- 
decent ardour and importunity to its good wishes 
for it own deliverance ; in the heart where liberality 
of sentiment prevails, it will excite a livelier sym- 
pathy with those who possess what itself has lost, 
and warmer wishes that they may prize such bles- 
sings duly, and enjoy them long. Acts of kindness 
are never felt so sensibly, nor received so grate- 
fully, as when they are indeed wanted ; they are sel- 
dom lost when they are bestowed on such occasions 
and in such circumstances. If therefore, sickness, 
pain, and danger, have a tendency, whilst they are 
present, to enliven the sentiments of gratitude, con- 
gratulation, and compassion, we may be aided by 
the serious recollection and renewed consideration 
of such scenes, and of their more immediate influ- 
ence, to attain to permanent and progressive im- 
provement, in these elements and components of 
Christian charitv. 



364 On the Use and Improvement to 

Do you understand this doctrine ? I see no reason 
to apprehend either that you do not understand, or 
that you doubt it. But perhaps you may conceive 
it better, and be more confirmed in the persuasion, 
that in this respect God may be glorified in our suf- 
ferings, if, having passed through such scenes of 
suffering and danger, you will recollect what you 
thought and what you felt, whilst you were in 
them. 

Christian, as you lay upon the bed of pain, and 
languishing, did it never come into your heart to 
bless God, did it never once alleviate your burdens, 
did it never for a moment suspend your attention to 
them, to reflect, what myriads of the family of God 
were, at that time, all around you, rejoicing in his 
benignity ? With your supplications for the restora- 
tion of your own health and ease, were you never 
prompted to join your intercessions for the continu- 
ance of theirs ? You heard perhaps, or if you heard 
not, did you not apprehend, that there were others 
circumstanced like you? Did you shut up the bow- 
els of compassion from them ? did their afflictions 
never reach your hearts ? did you never wish them, 
if you thought they wanted them, the comforts that 
attended you ? did you take no interest in their 
visitations ? — Your heart's desire and prayer for all 
men was, that they might be saved : for those who 
were in health and prospered, that knowing the 
value of their blessings, and remembering that they 
also, as well as their afflicted brethren, " were in 
the body," they might have wisdom to improve 
their blessings, so as to be prepared for circum- 
stances such as yours, through which they must 
pass at length ; and for those, over whom the sha- 
dows of adversity had stretched themselves, that in 
you and them, " patience might have its perfect 



be derived from Severe Illness. 365 

work, that ye might be perfect and entire, wanting 
nothing," and that in this world, or in a better, ye 
might come out of all your tribulations, as "gold 
out of the fire." 

When in those seasons you saw the solicitude of 
your friends ; the assiduity, perhaps, of a pious off- 
spring to repay your care of them, in doing for you 
what now you could do no longer for yourself; when 
you observed their anxiety, if any human care or 
intercession could avail to snatch you from the im- 
pending danger; when you saw them sacrificing 
ease, and rest, and health, to administer to your 
deliverance and comfort, holding nothing dear to 
them, that, if the will of God were such, they might 
by any means restore you and retain you ; when 
you saw their zealous care to do all to which their 
power extended, and their heartfelt anguish as to 
that which their power could not reach; when, in 
their countenances you perceived the alternate 
marks of hope and apprehension, of comfort and 
distress ; while you saw all this, while you experi- 
enced the benefits and the consolations of iheir 
friendship, were your hearts so hard, that such pow- 
erful attachment and such zealous service could 
draw forth from you no more than the ordinary cur- 
rent of affection ? No, Christian, surely that could 
not be. In such a situation, the lightest expressions 
of sincere friendship come full upon the heart to a 
warmer welcome, and with more than ordinary 
weight. 

When we are about to lose our blessings, it is then, 
perhaps, that we first see them in their true impor- 
tance. It is the same, when it seems to us that we are 
about to leave them. The last conversation, the last 
kind offices, the last mutual interchange of tender 

30 



366 On the Use and Improvement to 

words and silent looks; that last scene, my friends, will 
agitate the inmost heart, and set open all the springs 
of sympathy and benevolence. While that last 
scene is drawing nigh, and as long also as the im- 
pression of it remains in memory, every thing par- 
takes of its tender influences. While the heart is 
thus mollified by the united power of sharp afflic- 
tion and solemn expectation, every kindness, every 
condolence, every good wish, every, even the light- 
est token of benevolent attention, sinks deep into it. 
The merit of our friends puts on an unusual amia- 
bleness, and every thing we love is inexpressibly en- 
deared to us. 

Christians, have you ever felt these sentiments? If 
you have, you cannot willingly abandon them; for 
as surely as you have felt them, you approve them. 
You would have loved yourselves the better, if in 
all time past, these had on all occasions been the 
abiding sentiments of your hearts. The man who 
is as sensible as he ought to be, and by a very little 
measure of reflection might become, of the impor- 
tant use that may be made of such circumstances, 
and of their influences to give pleasantness, accep- 
tableness, and accuracy to his social duties, not 
only within the more contracted circle of his family 
and friends, but also in the wider range of his be- 
nevolent affections, will often be retracing these 
circumstances, and their influences, in his mind and 
heart, that he may avail himself of them in the ser- 
vices that he owes to the universal family of God, 
and in the improvement of his own soul to a resem- 
blance of the universal parent. In such cares he 
will be the more assiduous, if he will permit him- 
self to think, that the heart which has once been 
exposed to such powerfully humanizing and at- 
tendering influences, if it is not much the better, 
must of necessity become much the worse. Again, 



be derived from Severe Illness. 367 

To resign ourselves entirely to his disposal, is 
certainly to honour God ; and every event of life 
which we apply to the composing of our minds into 
resignation, confidence, and complacency in the 
divine government, we direct to the honour of its 
Author. Pain, disease, and danger, may contri- 
bute to form in us this happy temper; and may 
be rendered the means of its support and improve- 
ment. You know of whom it is said, that he 
"learnt obedience by the things which he suffered." 

COf whatever different senses these words are capa- 
ble, none is more natural than this — that his resig- 
nation unto God, and his confidence in him, were 
promoted and magnified by the severe afflictions he 
underwent. Human nature submits without reluc- 
tance to necessity; and those necessary trials and 
afflictions which we cannot escape, and out of which 
we cannot help ourselves, are the instruments of 
generating and nourishing that unreluctant submis- 
sion. Much indulgence and little discipline can 
hardly fail to make a petulant and froward child. 

DHigh health and great prosperity long continued, 
with but few or slight interruptions, are not very 
favourable to that self-annihilation which is a state 
of mind at once most easy and most comfortable 
to its owner, and a tribute of homage due to the 
wise and gracious Parent of the universe. Light 
afflictions are not so friendly to the growth and es- 
tablishment of this happy temper, as severer and 
more oppressive ones. Against the former, we 
seem to have support and help in the hope of over- 
coming them ; and the mind, disposed and excited 
to resist and struggle with them, whatever other 
benefit it may derive from such trials, finds little aid 
in them, towards perfecting its submission to the 
will of God. h\ 



368 On the Use and Improvement to 

Much care, perhaps, and much exertion too, in 
such circumstances, may be required to keep down 
a repining, fretful spirit, and to preserve any to- 
lerable measure of satisfaction in the government 
of heaven. It is in the great calamities of life, in 
which we cannot help ourselves, and in which 
friendship cannot help us, the pressure and the 
issues of which are, or are deemed by us to be, 
without the reach of human power; it is when we 
feel most sensibly the conviction of our own impo- 
tence, and the vanity of all other confidences, that 
we feel ourselves most perfectly disposed, and per- 
haps most completely enabled, to subdue our own 
will, and to cast ourselves entirely on the good 
pleasure of our Maker. It is from the serious re- 
collection, and the wise application of experience 
such as this, that we derive the most efficacious aids 
to bring our own will, upon all occasions, into a 
complete coincidence with the will of God, and to 
an habitual consent to all he does, or shall do, 
with us or ours. 

Recollect the feelings of your hearts, while the 
ministers of death were making and renewing their 
assaults upon the friends you have loved ; and 
compare them with the feelings of your heart, when 
the fatal blow was struck, and the irreparable ca- 
tastrophe was come upon you. Your first state of 
mind, it may be, was anxiety, tumult, agitation, 
restlessness, and reluctance; your wishes, it may 
be, savoured much of reluctance to the will of 
God; your importunities to heaven, it may be, were 
neither so dutiful, nor so reverent, as they should 
have been. The succeeding state of mind, per- 
haps, was calm, composed, and silent. It was 
God. You acknowledged his right to do what he 
would with his own. You knew the rod, and who 



be derived from Severe Illness. 369 

had appointed it. The burden lay heavy on your 
heart; but it was the will of God, and your heart 
disposed itself to bear it; it was best you thought; 
though you did not see this, you believed it : You 
approved the growing submissiveness of your tem- 
per, and found yourselves willing to renounce all 
choice, to suppress all wishes of your own, and to 
refer yourselves, and all your circumstances, to 
God; to wait his will, and to cast your cares on 
him. When similar events have happened to your- 
selves, the influence of them has perhaps been simi- 
lar; alarm, dissatisfaction, and reluctance, which, 
it may be, accompanied the first impressions of 
affliction and of danger, while as yet you thought 
yourselves within help and hope ; sunk at last into 
submission, tranquillity, and acquiescence. As your 
experience of your own impotence, and the in- 
efficacy of human aids, increased, your conviction 
of your dependence upon God increased with it. 
You found yourself entirely in his hands ; you 
were willing to think well of your condition there ; 
his power, which can neither be controlled nor 
eluded, showed every wish of that kind to be as 
weak, as it was vain ; and as you could not pre- 
vail, so neither would you repine against him ; in 
better hands you could not be : it is God, you 
said, let him do with me whatever seemeth to him 
good. 

Such, my friends, ought to be, at all times, the 
voluntary and settled dispositions of your minds. 
If you be Christians, any more than by profession, 
it is your daily study, not only to do what is the 
will of God, but moreover to rejoice, whatever your 
circumstances may be, that they are what he has 
appointed. You are at all times in his hands; 
equally, when the feeling of your strength, and the 



370 On the Use and Improvement to 

effectual services of your friends, may have ren- 
dered you less attentive to that dependence, as when 
the total failure of these blessings may have im- 
pressed it upon your hearts with the deepest sen- 
sibility, and most powerful conviction. If, of these 
different situations, the one, and the more ordinary 
condition of mankind, that of present enjoyment, be 
less favourable to the reverent acknowledgment of 
the hand of God in the disposition of our circum- 
stances, the wise man will avail himself of all the 
experience he has ever had of this other situation, 
that of affliction and sorrow, to enable him to think 
justly of divine Providence ; to be contented what- 
ever may be his portion, and to attain that state of 
mind, which shall finally enable him 5 " in all things 
to give thanks." 

Self-will and worldliness, the natural offspring of 
prosperity, are the two great enemies of resigna- 
tion. To have had this self-will controlled and 
overpowered — to have been sensibly compelled to 
forego our own choice, and to take that of God — 
to have felt experimentally the vanity of these 
objects after which worldliness so eagerly aspires, 
is of great efficacy to break the mind to habits of 
religious submission. And if these circumstances 
have not been so tremendous as we feared; if good 
hath attended, or resulted from them, their ten- 
dency is to improve the submission of the Christian 
into something more; it may, and of right it ought 
to be exalted, from profound, to cheerful and com- 
placent resignation. 

Again, let me just, add once more, that another 
instance, in which the good man will be studious to 
direct the visitations of which we speak to the ho- 
nour of their author, is, the application of the argu- 



be derived from Severe Illness. 371 

merits they suggest, to enhance his conceptions of 
the value and importance of gospel promises; and 
to confirm the purpose of his heart, by the faith- 
ful maintenance of the Christian character, to main- 
tain his title to them. 

41 This," saith the Apostle, " is the promise that 
he hath promised us, even eternal life." Precious 
promise! the accomplishment of which will make 
us like unto the angels of God, revealing in us all 
the glory of his children ; and the hope of which, 
has power enough to set our hearts at ease about 
all the accidents of this life, and to inspire us with 
tranquillity and comfort, when the end of it comes 
in view. How gloomy were the prospect, and how 
comfortless the approach to it, if in death there 
were an end of man ! How faint and ineffectual 
the consolation, if the hope of surviving that mys- 
terious revolution of our being, rested solely on 
the comments of our own minds ; upon some ap- 
prehended intimations that we observed in the 
Creator's works ! Hope, from such a source, might 
have entertained us in the calms and gleams of life, 
but would it have been firm enough to uphold us 
amidst its storms and tempests ? 

Christians, when you made near approaches to- 
wards the house appointed for all the living, would 
your composure, would your fortitude have been 
what it was, if your hope had stood, not upon God's 
promises, but upon your own arguments ? Without 
seriousness, you could not look upon death ; without 
terrour, I may be permitted to suppose, you did look 
at him. Without some soft regrets you could not 
abandon life; yet, with full consent of heart, you 
were ready to have laid it down. It was a trying 
circumstance; you felt all the difficulties of it; what 



372 On the Use and Improvement to 

was it that upheld you under them ? As flesh and 
heart were failing, whence was it you derived your 
steadiness and comfort? From reason and philoso- 
phy was it you derived them ? Alas, when you were 
most in need of such supports, you could neither 
form nor recollect, nor understand an argument upon 
the subject ; perhaps the principles on which it must 
have rested, were in that pressing hour, beyond your 
comprehension. No, Christian, promise and exam- 
ple were the cordials that revived you : the precious 
promises of God; the glorious exemplar of his 
Son. This, said you, is the promise that God has 
promised us, even eternal life. You said, and your 
faith failed not, " because Christ lives, you should 
live also." 

Do you remember, Christian, how precious, in 
that hour of darkness, you esteemed these thoughts, 
and promises, and hopes ? Added to your good 
conscience, they were all the wealth you possess- 
ed. In the general wreck of all other comforts, 
these alone remained with you, and with these, per- 
haps you thought, and not unjustly, that you could 
submissively and decently have finished your course. 
Without them, I am persuaded that you could with 
no tranquillity have contemplated that event. What 
would you have done, in that helpless hour, if your 
conscience had been in arms against you ? Or what, 
if there had been no kind promise on which to have 
reposed your souls ? If your heart was not greatly 
moved, it was, because it was stayed on God ; keep 
it so. Renfiember what in your distress, you thought 
of the promises of God. Remember, that into like 
need of the peace they speak to those who are enti- 
tled to them, you must come again. The ministers of 
death, when they shall again beset you, will not en- 
courage you to presume on promises, from the terms 



be derived from Severe Illness. 373 

of which you have departed. Abide in Christ. 
The appointed issue of this preparatory state, no 
less than the credit of its progressive periods, and 
the comfort of its closing scenes, depends upon 
your patience, perseverance, and fidelity. 

Continue patient in well doing. Of those who 
have been within the near prospect of death and of 
eternity, it may well be expected, that when next 
they go thither, it should be with better prepara- 
tion, and with more abundant comforts. Of those 
who have felt the urgent need, and the mighty pow- 
er of the Christian character, and of the'divine pro- 
mises, amidst such scenes of oppressive languor and 
of awful expectation, it may reasonably be presum- 
ed, that they will be diligent to keep alive these 
salutary impressions, and faithful to pursue them, 
through all their genuine consequences. — To have 
had such experimental knowledge, and such deep 
conviction of things so unspeakably interesting, is 
a privilege that may be turned to great account as 
a powerful means of further improvement. Such 
salutary lessons should not be permitted to die away 
out of our minds. Precious promises! given us 
that we might be made partakers of a divine na- 
ture ! — capable of shedding the sweetest influences 
over all the vicissitudes of life, and capable, even 
in death, or administering the strongest consola- 
tions ! 

Ought privileges like these to be forfeited ? — . 
Surely the man who hath such hopes in him, 
"should purify himself, even as he, the Lord, is 
pure;" he should keep himself " unspotted from 
the world," and should " perfect holiness in the 
fear of God." 

37 



APPENDIX. 



A SERMON, 

Preached to a Society of Protestant Dissenters, in the City of 
York. By the Rev. William Wood, on Wednesday, December 
31, 1800, immediately after the interment of the Rev. Newcome 
Cappe. 



Acts x. 24. 
An eloquent man, and mighty iu the Scriptures. 

I need not inform this assembly, that no common man 
has now been laid in the grave. The general appearance 
of all around me sufficiently indicates, that the serious 
event which has brought us together in this place, at this 
unusual season, is felt by more than a small number of 
relatives and friends. It is to eminent intellectual talents, 
and to acknowledged worth of publick character, that the 
present tribute of respect is paid. When a good man is 
taken from private life and a confined sphere of activity, 
he will be long and deeply lamented by his forsaken as- 
sociates ; the remembrance of his virtues will be long 
and fondly cherished by those who have enjoyed his 
affection: but the attention of a country, or of a large 
neighbourhood, cannot be excited ; the regret of numbers 
cannot be expressed for the loss of blessings which have 
been known only to few. In this case the funeral rites 
are properly simple and brief: the official address of 
the Christian minister is directed solely to the living. 



376 Sermon on the Interment of 

and has little or no concern with the character of the 
4ead. 

But excellence of a rarer kind, energies more vigorous, 
and usefulness more extensive, should not be suffered to 
slide away in silence, and to perish in oblivion. The 
righteous are entitled to everlasting remembrance : not 
for their own sake — praise to a deaf ear is dull and una- 
vailing : the lifeless corpse is insensible alike to applause 
and to disgrace— but to rouse the slumbering virtue of the 
living, to animate the well-disposed to nobler deeds, to 
inspire the timid with greater confidence in their own 
strength, and to point out to all, the fair paths of honour 
and happiness. 

I am painfully sensible that to do justice to an object so 
grand, an end so important, and an aim so difficult, abili- 
ties of the first order are required. And I should shrink 
from an attempt, in which, after all, I engage with a fal- 
tering tongue, if I were not encouraged to hope, that the 
generous pleasure which attends the survey of intellectual 
vigour and moral eminence will take entire possession of 
your souls, and make you regardless of all beside. I am 
still farther supported by the assurance, that however 
feebly the description may be given, your own previous 
knowledge will approve its fidelity. For I am not, on this 
occasion, compelled to frame a fictitious tale : I need not 
employ the varnish of art to produce a delusive image by 
the magick of splendid colours. I am only to follow the 
simple guidance of truth and nature. 

I have, moreover, the satisfaction to reflect, that I shall 
not be embarrassed by the untoward union of opposite 
qualities. I am not to celebrate a departed warriour, who 
made his way to success and glory through ruined cities 
and ensanguined fields ; I am not to reconcile the feelings 
of patriot virtue with the groans of dying heroes, the tears 
of helpless orphans, and the cries of famished peasants. 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 377 

Nor am 1 to accompany the statesman through the turns 
and windings of his way; and to undertake the humiliating 
task of endeavouring to palliate dishonourable means, by 
displaying the important ends for which those means were 
employed. 

Nor yet have I to ask your grateful admiration of ta- 
lents and studies, which had for their object nothing more 
than the increased comfort or luxurious enjoyment of the 
present life. I am not to commemorate the inventions of 
the artist who has abridged the toil of the industrious and 
made large additions to the publick wealth — or the ob- 
servalions of the astronomer who has given greater fa- 
cility to the commerce of distant nations — or the inves- 
tigations of the chemist who has followed nature into her 
inmost recesses, has compelled her to assume new forms, 
and has extorted from her the knowledge of new expe- 
dients for the readier production of known effects. 

I appear this day in my proper character as a minister 
of religion. I am to bring nothing to your view which has 
not a near, an inseparable connexion with your everlasting 
interests ; I am to claim your regard for the advocate of 
piety and virtue, a defender of sacred truth, a preacher 
of the gospel of peace, an eloquent man who was mighty 
in the Scriptures. 

The friend whom we have just accompanied to the 
dark and narrow house appointed for all living, was de- 
voted from his youth to the service of the sanctuary. 
Descended from a father who had long sustained the 
office of a Christian minister with reputation and success, 
in a neighbouring opulent commercial town, he obtained 
his profession by a kind of inheritance. But with him it 
was not a passive succession to an hereditary employment. 
The sphere of action and usefulness desired for him by 
parental affection, was fully approved by his own de- 
liberate choice. He joyfully received the prophet's man- 



3f8 Sermon on the Interment of 

tie with the prophet's goods. And, in so doing, he was 
not actuated by views of aspiring ambition or indulgent 
ease. He cast behind him all hopes of dignified station, 
of spiritual authority, of political influence, and of ample 
revenue. Placed by the accident of birth without the 
pale of the established church, he sought not a higher 
lot. He could not purchase the patronage of the state at 
what he deemed the expense of an independent mind. 
All he asked was, to have free access to the oracles of 
God, unfettered by human creeds, unrestrained by the 
chilling dread of ecclesiastick censures. He made a just 
distinction between the sacred rights of conscience, and 
the just claims of the civil magistrate. He thought it bis 
first duty to render unto God the things that are God's ; 
his next, to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's. 
In the arrangement of his religious creed, in his private 
and official intercourse with the Father of his spirit, he 
esteemed himself accountable to no man : in whatever con- 
cerns the publick peace, the secular rights of private men, 
or the social interests of the present life, he bowed to his 
country's laws. 

But though he declined submission to human power 
where he acknowledged no master but Christ, and no 
guide but the written word, in the study of that word he 
disdained not the assistance of human science. Sensible 
of the immense extent of divine truth in all its bearings 
and all its dependencies, convinced that the office of a 
Christian minister should not be lightly and hastily assum- 
ed, he eagerly embraced all the means of acquiring ge- 
neral knowledge. He pursued a regular course of acade- 
mick studies ; he drank freely of the invigorating, cheering 
streams of ancient wisdom ; he entirely neglected no 
branch of those inquiries which are usually stiled profane. 
But the sacred wisdom of revealed religion was in all cases 
the final object of his regard. Whatever he studied, and 



the Rev. Nervcome Cappe. 379 

whatever he acquired, he applied it all to the immediate 
design of his profession ; he made it all conducive to a 
critical skill in the Holy Scriptures. These he read by 
day ; on these he thought by night. Well versed in the 
Greek and Roman classick writers, he derived from them 
frequent assistance in explaining the New Testament. 
But tnough he gratefully employed them as useful aux- 
iliaries, he by no means received them as unerring guides. 
He did not look for attick purity or attick elegance in the 
barbarised stile of Hellenistick Jews. He well knew that 
the language in which the Evangelists and Apostles wrote, 
was not that in which they commonly conversed and 
thought. He was convinced that their narratives and 
epistles could not be completely understood without a 
constant attention to Hebrew idioms. It was, therefore, 
in his estimation, an object of primary importance, to ob- 
tain a thorough insight into the original language and most 
ancient version of the Jewish Scriptures. He regarded 
the peculiar dialect of the Greek interpreters, as, in most 
cases, the best key to the obscure expressions of the first 
dispensers of Gospel doctrine. With these aids he gen- 
erally suffered the inspired authors to explain their own 
meaning. He entered with nice exactness into the dis- 
tinguishing manner of each : he pursued their train of 
thought : he compared them with each other : he consi- 
dered the circumstances in which they were placed, the 
opinions which they had previously formed, and the man- 
ner in which they were likely to be influenced by the pre- 
vailing sentiments of the times. To the explanations of 
learned commentators he had frequent recourse : no one 
ever read them with greater care, or could boast a more 
extensive acquaintance with their works. But his chief 
dependence was on his own researches. Whatever he 
possessed was properly his own, the result of his own 
patient investigation, the dictate of his own cool and se- 
rious judgment. 



380 Sermon on the Interment of 

The retired, and, in a great degree, uncommumcated 
studies of many a laborious year, at length gave him nearly 
the same views of the New Testament, as, in different con- 
nexions, and under different influences, have been gradual- 
ly opened to the world by the writings of a Lindsey, a 
J ebb, a Priestley, and other divines who, for some time, 
have been generally known by the name of Unitarian 
Christians. But though in the general issue he nearly 
agreed with those eminent inquirers into Scripture doc- 
trine, his whole train of thought had an original cast, and 
in some respects a specifick difference from that of every 
other Christian believer. This was the natural, the una- 
voidable effect of an examination truly free, conducted on 
enlarged principles, and satisfied with nothing short of what 
appeared to himself decisive evidence. 

Nor let it be supposed that these different deductions 
from the same Scriptures are a valid objection to the 
divine authority of the Scriptures themselves, or any dis- 
paragement of their worth and usefulness. Let it not be 
pleaded, on the one hand, that on this account there is 
need of an infallible expounder; or insinuated, on the 
other, that, by making this concession, we favour the 
doubts of the sceptick, or afford occasion of triumph to 
the infidel. I appeal to the testimony of incontestable fact 
in support of the assertion, that some of the firmest, 
warmest, and most active advocates of the Christian faith 
have been found in the number of those, who have been 
most strenuous in their claim to the right of private judg- 
ment, and have exercised that right with the greatest free- 
dom and boldness. 

No one had a stronger conviction of the divine authori- 
ty of Moses and of Christ, than our departed friend. The 
more deeply he studied the sacred Scriptures, the more 
clearly he understood, or thought he understood, the 
writings of the prophets and apostles, the more distinctly 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 381 

did he perceive, the more steadily did he acknowledge 
the consistence and beauty of the two connected systems. 
When he differed from others, he did not wonder at the 
difference. He was no more surprised to discover that 
those, whose talents he respected and whose esteem he 
valued, did not concur wilh him in all his sentiments, than 
to find that they were not of his own height, of his own 
colour, and of his own form. Instead of lamenting it as a 
misfortune that the same integrity, similar diligence, and 
equal mental discernment do not always lead to exactly the 
same point, he admired in it the wise appointment of in- 
finite goodness. He knew that where all is easy, and 
where all men agree, there is little inducement to close 
and continued observation. He was aware that the mind 
calls not forth its whole strength till difficulties are to be 
solved, discordant opinions are to be compared, and a 
preference to one or the other is to be given. He was 
convinced that the influence of divine truth on the heart 
and life entirely depends upon the attention which it ex- 
cites, and the ardour with which it is pursued. He there- 
fore rejoiced in that variety of sentiment which keeps 
curiosity alive, creates an interest in the search after 
truth, and by making it the object of repeated inquiry, 
gives it free access to the active powers, and produces 
religious obedience. 

For to this important, this one essential purpose, all 
his own studies were uniformly applied. In whatever va- 
rying light the circumstantial particulars and incidental 
doctrines of divine revelation appeared to his growing 
rnind, he discerned and reverenced, as the ground work 
of the whole, a fixed and efficacious principle of inward 
godliness. Whatever occasion he found to correct, or to 
improve his former decisions, here he experienced no 
doubt, here he was never compelled to retract or to qua- 
lify. Whatever excursions he took in the regions of 

38 



382 Sermon on the Interment of 

speculative inquiry, whatever he learnt from Moses and 
the prophets, from Christ and his apostles, to this con- 
clusion he was invariably led : " Fear God and keep his 
commandments ; for this is all that is truly interesting to 
man ; Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, what- 
soever things are honourable, whatsoever things are just, 
whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, 
whatsoever thing are of good report ; if there be any vir- 
tue, if there be any praise, think on these things, and the 
God of peace shall be with you. Giving all diligence, add 
to your faith, virtue ; and to virtue, knowledge ; and to 
knowledge, temperance ; and to temperance, patience ; 
and to patience, godliness ; and to godliness, brotherly 
kindness ; and to brotherly kindness, charity. For if 
these things be in you and abound, they make you to 
be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our 
Lord Jesus Christ. But he that lacketh these things 
is blind and cannot see far off, and hath forgotten that he 
was purged from his old sins. Wherefore, the rather, 
brethren, give diligence to make your calling and elec- 
tion sure ; for if ye do these things ye shall never fall ; 
for so an entrance shall be administered to you abundantly 
into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Je- 
sus Christ." 

Deeply impressed with a conviction of this solemn 
truth, he had no ambition to acquire a critical skill in the 
language of the Holy Scriptures, but in strict connexion 
with its evident subservience to the forming of a pious 
and virtuous character. As he wished rather to be, than 
to appear, a good scholar ; so he set more value on the in- 
ward temper of a devout mind, and the silent aspiration 
of a grateful heart, than on all the brilliance of that ac- 
tive spirit which rushes into busy life, solicits general 
notice, and extorts the applause of an admiring world. 
Indeed he was so far from a forward and ostentatious dis- 
play of his own powers and of his own attainments, that, 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 383 

as those who knew him best will readily allow, he car- 
ried an aversion to publick life, and a love of studious 
retirement, to a somewhat blameable excess. With natu* 
ral and acquired capacities for extensive usefulness, in the 
course of five-and-forty years he was seldom absent from 
this city. With eminent talents for popular eloquence ; 
with a rich fund of moral and religious knowledge, with 
a rare combination of mental qualities, a sound under- 
standing, a vigorous fancy, and quick sympathetick feel- 
ing ; with a copious flow of strong, and often beautiful 
expression ; with a style of composition exactly, 1 may, 
perhaps add, exclusively, suited to his own impressive 
delivery ; with a dignity of person and deportment which 
insured the attention of all who heard him, he seldom 
spake as a Christian minister but from this pulpit. Hap- 
py in a growing acquaintance with sacred truth, in the en- 
joyments of the family hearth, in the instructive converse 
of a few learned associates, and the esteem of a small 
Christian congregation, he had no ambition to fix the eyes 
of listening crowds, or to obtain the meed of extensive 
fame. If he had not been called to a pastoral charge in 
this ancient metropolis of the north, this fixed abode, or 
winter residence, of many a cultivated mind, this periodi- 
cal resort of numerous attendants on judicial law ; and if 
he had not been introduced to the knowledge of the latter 
highly respectable body of men, by the faithful friend of 
his youth, who long stood at the head of the bar in this 
circuit,* he might have passed through life little noticed 
and little known. 

But though he confined his ministerial labours to the 
benefit of a few, he gave to that few all the respect which 
applauding multitudes could ever have required. His 
sermons were not the incoherent effusions of careless 
haste, or the cold harangues of formal duty. Whatever 

* The late John Lee, Esq. his Majesty's Attorney General in tbe 
year 1783. 



384 Sermon on the Interment of 

he performed he made conscience of endeavouring \o per- 
form well. His explanations of Holy Writ were address- 
ed alike to Hie understanding and the affections. What- 
ever were the subjects he discussed, he drew liberally 
from his ample stores, and out of his treasures brought 
forth to his people things new and old. His devotional 
services were scriptural, animated, and affecting. His 
piety was, as it always should be, the combined opera- 
tion of principle and feeling, a deliberate diciate of the 
judgment and a warm emotion of the heart. A firm reli- 
ance on the divine perfections, a fixed resignation to the 
divine will, and a steady persuasion that all the ways of 
God are just and good, formed, indeed, the characteris- 
tick features of his mind, appeared in all his works, and 
gave a just direction to the general course of his actions. 
Of this he has left a pleasing proof in those interesting 
Discourses on the Providence and Government of God, of 
which the publick are now possessed, and which are faith- 
ful copies from the tablet of his heart. 

This was put especially to the test in the latter part of 
his life, when a melancholy stroke stopped the progress of 
his publiek labours, nearly closed his private studies, and 
greatly impaired hia active faculties. But though cut off 
from many of his former employments, and unfitted in a 
great degree for general intercourse, his pious affections 
still retained their accustomed tenour, his trust in God 
still preserved all its power. Tranquil in the bosom of a 
cheerful and ever attentive family, soothed with the mark- 
ed regard of a few ancient friends, free from worldly care 
and mental disquiet, rejoicing in the Christian faith, and 
reposing all his hopes on his Father and his God, he pass- 
ed years of increasing weakness without complaint, and 
at length died without a groan. 

Which of us is not ready to exclaim in the fervent lan- 
guage of an impassioned heart, Let me die the death of 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 385 

the righteous ; let my latter end be like his ? I trust, my 
brethren, we are all thus affected. I flatter myself it will 
not be laid to our charge, that when the good man is taken 
from the earth, we regard it not. When we contemplate 
departed worth, we cherish more than a feeling of simple 
approbation. We are sensible that we should do equal in- 
justice to the dead and to ourselves, were we only to ad- 
mire. Though the eloquent tongue which has so often 
spoken in this place is now consigned to the silent tomb, 
the Spirit by which it was inspired still speaks, and I am 
persuaded, will long continue to speak to this Christian 
church, to those who form a casual part of this assembly, 
to his numerous distant friends, and to all who have known 
his character. " Be ye followers of me, as I was of Christ," 
is the solemn language of his durable address. Though 
the sound does not strike our bodily ears, it is, I doubt 
not, felt in our hearts : and I entertain the pleasing hope 
that it sinks deep into our minds, and will be faithfully 
obeyed in our lives. To his surviving relatives, he has 
left a pattern which I am sure will never be forgotten. 
To his late assistant and now mourning successor, he has 
bequeathed a rich legacy of professional experience which 
I am confident will be valued more than choice silver. To 
you, the former attendants on his publick labours, there 
will ever remain a pleasing remembrance of the instruc- 
tion, the caution, the reproof, the encouragement and con- 
solation severally dispensed, each in its due season. It 
has, indeed, already for some time been only a pleasing 
remembrance. But though you have been bereaved, 
you have not been forsaken. It was a source of high sa- 
tisfaction to your deceased pastor, thai he then saw you, and 
was likely to leave you, under the faithful direction of a 
younger minister, " for whom he left the affection of a 
parent, and from whom he received in return a filial 



386 Sermon on the Interment of 

love."^ You are sensible of your happiness, and I re- 
joice with you in it. 

What then remains but that we all retire from this house 
of death with minds disposed to serious reflection, and 
with an earnest desire "so to number our own days as to 
apply our hearts to true wisdom ?" We also are mortal. 
We also are made of frail materials, and cannot insure our 
health, our strength, or our lives, for a moment. Before 
the close of this short winter's day, a sudden stroke may 
relax the sinews of our frame, debilitate our mental pow- 
ers, and either snatch us away at once, or cause us to go 
down by slow degrees to the pit. 

But were we certain of what we ourselves are accus- 
tomed to call " length of years and many days," what at 
the best is human life? Is it not a vapour which soon dis- 
solves into air? Is it not a shadow which is blotted out by 
the first passing cloud? What, on the retrospect, are 
" threescore years and ten?" Are they not "as yesterday 
when it is past, and as a watch of the night ?" Time is on 
the wing ; no barrier can stop his progress ; no impedi- 
ment can lessen his speed. Our years come and go in 
swift succession. Each has its fixed limits ; each is dis- 
tinguished by its peculiar events ; each fulfils its appointed 
purpose in the immense scheme of divine Providence, and 
then is gone for ever. In a few hours another will have 
run its race. We shall hail its successor as a welcome 
guest, and shall express our benevolence to each other, by 
cordial wishes for a numerous similar seasons with equal or 
greater blessings in their train. In a few hours another 
century will also have finished its longer course. But 
with respect to that which the silent lapse of time is about 
to raise into being, we cannot employ a similar greeting. 
The commencement of many successive centuries none of 

* Nearly Mr. Wellbeloved's own words, in a letter to the preacher 
on the death of his revered friend. 



the Rev. Newcome Cappe. 387 

us hope to see. Where are now the busy crowds who re- 
joiced in the first rising sun of the eighteenth ? They 
have passed away as a flood, and are no more seen. 
Where will every one of us be long before the year nine- 
teen hundred and one ? In the cold and insensible man- 
sions of the grave. " Our breath will have departed from 
us ; the thoughts and intents of our hearts will have per- 
ished ; we shall no more have a portion under the sun." 

But can we be satisfied with eternal forget fulness ? Do 
not our aspiring souls pant for immortality ? Do we not 
ardently desire, do we not anxiously crave, do we not 
with trembling solicitude almost demand, perpetuity of 
being and enjoyment ?" These ardent desires, these 
anxious cravings, these trembling inclinations to demand, 
will be fully gratified, if we do not disappoint them by 
our own folly. The benevolent Creator who has implant- 
ed in us the wish, has formed us with a view to its com- 
pletion. The Author and Finisher of our faith has direct- 
ed our views to " an inheritance, incorruptible, undefiled, 
and that fadeth not away." If we only employ the ap- 
pointed means, and " walk worthy of our high calling," 
this inheritance will be our eternal portion. " The pro- 
mises of God," delivered to us " by Christ Jesus, are 
all yea, and amen ;" fixed and irrevocable. " Neither 
death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, 
nor things present, nor things to come, nor heighth, nor 
depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us 
from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." 
All that is to be done on our part, is fully made known in 
the revealed will of God. The doctrines of the New 
Testament are able to make us wise unto salvation. But 
their value entirely depends on the spirit with which they 
are studied, and the diligence with which they are im- 
proved. Though they are in themselves the written 
word of the everlasting God, to us they will be nothing 
more than a dead letter, if we do not apply them to our 



388 Sermon, &c. 

hearts, and receive them as rules of conduct. The friend 
of whom in our mortal bodies we have now taken an affec- 
tionate farewell, was "mighty in the scriptures." He 
devoted the studies of his life to repeated examinations of 
their contents, not merely as a professional duty — though 
that was ever present to his thoughts— but that he himself 
might have a stronger conviction of their importance, and 
might feel more of their practical influence. " He now 
rests from his labours, and his works follow him. He has 
fought a good fight, he has finished his course, he has kept 
the faith : henceforth there is laid up for him a crown of 
righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall 
give him at the day of his appearing." If we cultivate 
his faith and patience, we shall like him in due time be- 
come partakers of the promises. If we persevere in a 
course of well doing, we shall lament his loss only for a 
few earthly days, and shall celebrate with him an eternal 
sabbath in the blissful mansions of the just. The now 
forsaken domestick relatives will then be again blest with 
the husband, the parent, and brother ; the members of 
this religious society, who have been long deprived of 
ministerial services which they once heard with profit and 
delight, will then again listen to the pastor and the friend. 
All who loved him here will then rejoice with him in the 
regions of perfect love, and will join the faithful servants 
of the God of all nations, kindred and tongues, in one 
triumphant song of praise. Therefore, my beloved breth- 
ren, let us be steadfast and unmoveable, always abound- 
ing in the work of the Lord ; for as much as we know 
that our labour will not be in vain in the Lord. Let us 
be faithful unto death, that we may then receive a crown 
of life. 



THE END 



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